


Here and Nowhere Else

by thismuchmore



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Calgary Flames, Chicago Blackhawks, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Trade, Romance, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thismuchmore/pseuds/thismuchmore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning Brandon gets traded to Calgary, Andrew invites him to his cottage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here and Nowhere Else

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to saramir for the beta and the encouragement, and her invaluable feedback on a few key scenes.
> 
> The title comes from the name of an album by Cloud Nothings.

Being traded sucks.

That much is obvious, and Brandon would be lying if he said he hadn't considered that this might happen at some point. But he signed a contract a few months ago. He just bought a condo; he was planning on being in Chicago for at least the next three years. So that call from his agent -- the one he got while making breakfast in his new kitchen last weekend -- hit like a punch to the gut.

He listened to the voicemail, then deleted it. There wasn't any point in keeping it around. It's not like he needs a memento. He's going to Calgary, and nothing is going to change that.

He's kept one thing from that morning, though: a text that came moments after he hung up the phone.

 _fuck dude i'm sorry this sucks. u wanna come up to the cottage?_ followed by _i have lots of beer and a boat ;)_

Brandon had stared at the gray iMessage bubble on his screen, his breakfast going cold in front of him, and ignored the stream of concerned texts from his mom for a moment (and, okay, the winky-face emoticon in Andrew's text). He typed back, _Yeah, okay. When?_

Sure, Brandon's had second thoughts about it, but he's never been the kind of person to back out of something after making a promise. He'll be at the cottage for the next five days, and if Brandon is good at anything, he's good at pretending that being around Andrew has no effect on him whatsoever. He's more than capable of playing it cool and pretending like being around Andrew doesn't make him want to shove Andrew against a wall and kiss him senseless.

He's been pretending for three years. Five more days is nothing.

*

He makes the drive to Canada because maybe the long ride will help get his mind off things. He likes the idea of having hours of quiet time with nothing to focus on but the road ahead of him. It backfires when he leaves Chicago right before 6 a.m. and there's already traffic on the Kennedy. With nothing else to do but keep inching his car forward, he starts thinking that the one thing he won't miss about this city is the traffic. That leads to him thinking about all the things he actually will miss about living here, so he just turns up the music like making it louder will help drown out his thoughts.

Around the second hour of the drive, Brandon realizes nine hours is probably too long to be by himself, at least in the mental state he's in, but he drives fast, only stopping when he absolutely has to, and texting Andrew updates before he gets back on the road. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be checking in constantly, but every couple of hours, Andrew texts him _where r u_ and if Brandon doesn't respond within five minutes, Andrew texts the same message again.

 _Still in Michigan, buddy_ , he sends from a rest stop twenty miles outside Detroit, and he gets back several sad face emojis. The next time he texts Andrew is when he gets through the border crossing, and Andrew sends back a picture of himself with his dogs. The text underneath says, "We're excited to see u!" He might linger on the picture too long, staring at Andrew's grin.

_I'm excited to see you, too._

*

Brandon adjusts the duffel bag on his shoulder and rings the doorbell, taking a deep breath. As soon as the bell rings, the dogs start barking, and he hears them scampering toward the door, Andrew's voice calling after them. Once the door swings open, Brandon has a tiny white dog and a larger brown dog barking happily at his feet, and he crouches down to pet them.

"Hey," Andrew says, and Brandon looks up in time to see him break into a huge smile.

When Brandon stands up, Andrew pulls him in for a quick hug. Brandon smiles back, and it's the first time in a few days that he's managed a real, genuine smile, which is kind of sad, but hey -- the last few days have sucked.

"Charlie, Hershey, come on." Andrew does his best to corral the dogs inside, and he ushers Brandon into the foyer.

He's surprised the house even has a foyer; when he heard "cottage," he imagined a bungalow, not a decent-sized house. Well, for the longest time, he wasn't sure Andrew even had a cottage, but last summer pictures finally proved its existence, ending one of Brandon's favorite long-running jokes among the team.

Brandon takes a look around. "What happened to the van down by the lake?"

"You started that rumor."

"It was a good one. I had like half the team doubting that your cottage actually existed."

"You know, I can park my Jeep down by the lake and make you stay there."

"You wouldn't."

"You don't know that," Andrew says, scoffing.

"Good luck. I'm not getting in your car. That thing is an embarrassment." Brandon sets down his bag and bumps his shoulder.

"Is that why you drove up here? So you wouldn't have to ride back from the airport in my Jeep?"

"Maybe," Brandon says, drawing the word out. Andrew huffs, and Brandon laughs. "No, I just wanted to drive."

Andrew starts walking down a hallway, the dogs scampering after him, and Brandon follows. "Was the drive okay? I know we were texting, but --"

"Yeah, it was fine. Long, but not as exhausting as I thought it would be."

"Did my texts annoy you?" Andrew looks over his shoulder with a glint in his eye.

"A little bit, but I would expect nothing less."

Brandon gives him a gentle shove from behind and Andrew stumbles, cackling like he's proud of himself for being so annoying. When they reach the first open bedroom door, he turns to Brandon and says, "Anyway, there are two guest rooms. You can have whichever one you want."

Brandon peeks into the room closest to them, sees a room with two double beds, and moves on to the next one, which has a queen-size bed. He sets his bag down. "It's no van by the lake, but this will do," he says.

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm not disappointed at all."

"If you say so." Andrew shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts and rocks forward on the balls of his feet. "If you want, I can show you the rest of the place."

There's Andrew's room, which is next to Brandon's and has a view of the lake; a newer-looking kitchen with a big, stainless steel fridge and a stove that Andrew definitely doesn't use; and the living room, with a sectional couch and a huge TV mounted on the wall. Brandon can see why Andrew likes the place so much -- it's small, simple, and quiet, almost too quiet after coming here from Chicago. Brandon is used to sirens and street noise, and he's even grown to like falling asleep to it. Here, he can hear birds outside and the wind blowing through the trees. It's different, but in a good way, in a way that he probably needs.

Back in the kitchen, Andrew opens the fridge and pulls out a can of beer and a bottle of water. "Pick one."

Brandon takes the water, so Andrew puts the beer back and gets a water for himself, too.

"I thought you'd pick the beer," Andrew says, climbing onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, "you know, to like, drown your sorrows."

"I don't have any sorrows to drown," Brandon says, half amused, half deadpan, grabbing a stool for himself.

Andrew gives him a _get real_ look. "Did you get it out of your system already?"

"After the initial shock, I kind of accepted it. So. Nothing really to get out of my system."

It's been almost a week, but Brandon still feels numb talking about the trade, like he's talking about something that happened to someone else, not to him. He still hasn't wrapped his head around the fact that he's done with the Blackhawks, that he'll never put on that jersey again. God, it's going to be weird seeing himself in a Flames jersey for the first time.

"Man, if that happened to me out of nowhere, after I thought I'd be with the same team for a while, I'd be pissed."

"I was pissed. But you know, this happens sometimes. You don't ever think it'll happen to you, but it's not unheard of."

"It still sucks, though." Andrew uncaps his water and takes a drink, so Brandon does the same. "Did you talk to any of the guys?"

"Yeah, I got texts from a bunch of them. Not from everybody, but most of the guys reached out to me."

Within a few minutes of getting the news, his phone was flooded with texts, which didn't do much to make him feel better, but he appreciated the gesture. The guys he's closest to were first: Smitty, Mo, Andrew, Crow. All he could do was write back "Thanks," and the only time he laughed -- really, the only time he laughed that entire weekend -- was when Mo asked, mostly serious, if he needed a well-being check.

"I was like, ‘Whoa, holy shit, really?' when I heard. I don't even know how I would deal with something like that," Andrew says. He leans forward, resting his arms on top of the counter.

"It's a business and this kind of shit just happens sometimes," Brandon says, shrugging, repeating the same words he's said to everyone else: to his parents, to his sister, to reporters. _It was a shock, but you know, it's a business._ That was all he could say, the only way he could rationalize what happened. Talking to Andrew about it, it sounds like he took it better than he did. It makes it sound like he didn't spend an entire day feeling sorry for himself and wondering if any team, even his new one, actually wanted him. There aren't exactly a bunch of teams tripping over themselves to get a big fourth-liner who got into the league by punching dudes.

"I'm gonna miss you," Andrew says, shifting on his stool. He looks so sad about it, possibly even sadder than Brandon felt when he first got the news, and it makes Brandon's throat get tight.

"Hey." Brandon punches his shoulder. "I'll miss you, too, but I'm here now, and we're going to have a good time."

"Fuck yeah, we are," Andrew says, and he brightens almost immediately.

"When do Leds and Saader get here?"

"Sometime tomorrow. They'll be here for the weekend."

"Oh." Brandon had been counting on the buffer of Leddy and Saad being around the entire time to keep him from doing something potentially stupid. Whatever, he's more than capable of keeping his hands and his feelings to himself, even if it's just him and Andrew sharing a house and hanging out.

"Yeah, I don't know why they can't stay longer. Family stuff, I guess."

Brandon's stomach growls, and Andrew looks at him pointedly. "You wanna go grab some lunch?"

"What's good around here?"

Andrew laughs. "There's like two options."

"You weren't kidding when you said this place didn't have a lot of stuff to do or places to eat."

"Yeah, no sushi or fancy steak places, but it's not so bad. Just don't ever order the steak at the diner." Andrew makes a face like he's seen unspeakable horrors. "You don't even want to know."

*

Their choices for lunch are McDonald's and a place called the Lakeside Diner. They go with the latter, Andrew warning Brandon about the steak for a second time after they sit down in one of the vinyl-covered booths. Brandon picks up a laminated menu, which says, "All-day breakfast!" on the front, and flips it open, deciding that he probably can't go wrong with a burger. After all, Andrew would have warned him if the burgers were terrible.

Andrew is still studying the menu as Brandon looks around at the counter and stools, the jukebox in the corner, and the window back to the kitchen. It reminds of a place he used to go to with his grandparents in St. Louis when he was little. He got a free cookie with every meal, and that was the best part.

"Can you _not_ do that?" Andrew says after the waitress takes their orders and leaves to get their drinks.

"Do what?"

"Flirt with the waitress. She's like seventy years old."

"One, you're ageist, and two, I'm not flirting. I’m being my usual charming self."

Andrew snorts and unwraps his silverware, shaking his head.

"What?" Brandon leans back on the bench and crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm charming!"

He totally is; he's gotten laid more than a few times thanks to being a charming bastard. It's never smarmy or anything -- okay, maybe a few times it has been, but still.

Andrew starts playing with the paper that held the silverware and napkin together, folding it until it's a tiny square. "I guess you can keep thinking that."

The waitress -- her nametag says "Rose" -- stops by to drop off a couple glasses of water and says, "Your food should be out in a few minutes."

"Thanks," Brandon says, smiling at her.

Rose winks at him and says, "You're welcome, handsome."

Andrew groans after she leaves. "Rose has been waiting on my family like, my entire life. You need to stop."

"All I did was say ‘thanks.'"

"Yeah, with that smile." Andrew points at Brandon's face, then reaches for his water glass. He mimics Rose. "Handsome."

"What smile are you talking about? That's my normal smile."

"No, it's the same smile you give me sometimes," Andrew mutters over the rim of the glass.

Brandon's grin grows wider. "So you're saying I give you my apparently special, apparently flirtatious smile."

Andrew swallows some water and gives an exaggerated cough. "That's not what I said at all."

"I think it is."

They're saved by Rose dropping off their plates, and they both start eating right away, Andrew digging into his pancakes and Brandon taking a big bite of his burger. After a couple minutes of eating, Brandon, grasping for any conversational straws that will get them off the topic of whether or not he's flirting with Rose, Andrew, or both of them, says, "How's your offseason been so far?"

"Pretty good. I've mostly been hanging out here with my brothers and a few of our friends from home. How's yours?"

"Well, aside from the obvious, it's been okay. I went home a couple times to see my family, and I went to Vegas."

"I saw it on Instagram. You, Crow, and Morin on your ‘business trip.'" Andrew actually sets down his fork so he can make air-quotes around "business trip."

"I think a business trip would have been more exciting, at least for me," Brandon says.

Andrew looks up mid-bite. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Brandon says, and he leaves it at that.

At the end of the night, his buddies were off hooking up, and for a change, he didn't. The opportunity was certainly there if he wanted to take it, though. The opportunity is always there if he wants to take it, which sounds egotistical, but it's true.

"Did you go to bed at nine o'clock?" Andrew laughs. "Getting too old for all the excitement?"

"No, I stayed out with the guys, but nothing happened." Brandon takes a drink of water. "They'd leave with whoever they were leaving with, and I'd get an Uber back to the hotel and call it a night."

"You're losing your game, man." Andrew shakes his head. "At least you have game with old ladies, or else I'd be really worried."

"My game is fine," Brandon clarifies. "I just didn't feel like picking up."

"Since when?"

"I don't know, maybe I'm re-evaluating my priorities."

Andrew snorts as he's chewing his pancakes. "No, I think you didn't have any game in Vegas, so you're using that as an excuse."

"No excuses."

 _Nothing happened because I was thinking about you_ , Brandon wants to say, but he holds it in. For once, he couldn't put aside whatever thoughts and feelings he had about Andrew and have fun with another girl or guy. He'd told himself a long time ago that Andrew was off-limits: they were teammates, and he didn't get involved with teammates. But they aren't teammates anymore, which upends the one reason -- well, the one reason besides not knowing for sure if Andrew was interested, despite Andrew sending him signals sometimes that might as well have said, "I LIKE YOU" in huge flashing lights above his head -- that he'd had for staying away. And now they're going to be thousands of miles apart, so he has another reason to keep his hands off.

Brandon isn't sure about long-distance, but he can do casual -- or at least he thinks he can, if his history is any indication. He's fairly certain "casual" isn't even in Andrew's vocabulary when it comes to relationships, though. All of the evidence Brandon has points to Andrew being the kind of guy who only does serious relationships, who falls hard for people and goes all in.

Maybe Brandon could be that guy, too. Maybe Andrew is the one person who could make him give a serious relationship a shot. It's stupid how much he's thought about having a serious thing with Andrew, all the while telling himself why it wouldn't work out, or why he shouldn't pursue it in the first place.

"Wow. So maybe you really are re-evaluating your priorities." There's a glimmer in Andrew's eye, a lilt to his voice when he says, "Are you looking for someone to make an honest man out of you?"

"No." Brandon sets down his burger. "I'm saying that maybe I'm considering something more serious."

"Is there a special someone in your life?" Andrew teases. "Can I meet them?"

"There's no special someone. It's just that _if_ I met someone, I don't think it would be a one-nighter. That's all."

Andrew leans back against the booth. "I'll make you an online dating profile. I'll find the worst pictures of you and see if you get any dates."

"You're not making a profile. And I'm not doing online dating."

"I have an idea for a great prank now, though."

"It's not a great prank if I already know you're going to do it."

Andrew makes a face at that, like Brandon ruining his prank idea is the worst thing that's happened to him today. "I'll figure something out."

"Sure you will."

"Oh, you won't be so sarcastic when I make a profile for BigBeardMan6969."

Brandon starts laughing so hard he actually snorts. Andrew cracks up, too, and when they're done laughing, Andrew beams at him from across the table.

"I'm glad you enjoyed that," Andrew says.

"As long as you don't follow through on making that profile a reality."

"Nah, I won't do it. It was funny to see your reaction, though."

Once they've finished eating, they go to pay at the ancient cash register up front, since Rose left the check when she brought out their food. There's a minor squabble over who gets to pay and if they should have separate checks, which Andrew wins when he's the first to hand cash to the put-upon cashier.

*

While they're in town, Andrew wants to stop at the grocery store. He doesn't have a list -- honestly, Brandon can't remember the last time he went shopping without making a list first -- so it takes forever, Andrew pushing the cart up and down every single aisle, trying to figure out what he needs.

"What do you usually buy?" Brandon asks as Andrew turns the cart toward the meat department.

"Um."

"That's not really an answer."

"Usually my parents are up here, too, so they're buying all the food."

Brandon sighs and takes it upon himself to fill the cart with steaks, hamburgers, chicken, and all the stuff for barbecuing. They have to go to another store for beer, and they buy way more than Brandon thinks four guys can drink by themselves, Andrew explaining, "My brothers drank pretty much everything in the fridge, so I gotta re-stock."

By the time they get back to the cottage and put everything away, Brandon is ready for a nap, but he manages to stay awake, grabbing beers for both of them and heading out to the deck that overlooks the water. Andrew has a table and chairs set up, and the deck is covered, protecting them from the sun. Brandon is sure that if the sun was beating down on him, he definitely would fall asleep mid-conversation and Andrew would never let him hear the end of it.

"I like it here," Brandon says, stretching out his legs, looking out at the sunlight glittering on the water.

Andrew smiles, the happiness taking over his entire body, his shoulders relaxing. "I'm glad."

"This deck is pretty sweet."

"My dad and I built it ourselves," Andrew says, and Brandon can hear the pride in his voice. "We did a lot of work to fix the place up after I bought it."

"Your parents have a house around here, too, right?"

"Yeah, it's the one next door. And my grandparents' is the one next to that."

"It's like the Shaw family compound."

"Sort of." Andrew laughs. "The houses are spaced far enough apart that it feels like we have some privacy. My parents and grandparents don't get down here as often as they used to, though. I basically live here in the summer."

"I can see why. I've been here for a few hours and already I feel better."

"Good." Andrew takes a drink of his beer, and they slip into silence for a few minutes. Brandon takes a minute to close his eyes and enjoy it, but he must enjoy it a little too much, because it feels like a long time before Andrew is pushing his shoulder and whispering, "Hey. Hey, wake up."

Brandon blinks a few times and sits up straight. "Sorry." He can hear every hour of the long drive in the roughness of his voice. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay. You had a long day." Andrew pauses. "Do you want dinner?"

It doesn't seem like it's been that long since they left the diner, but he definitely could eat, so it's probably been longer than he thought. He slowly gets to his feet, still groggy.

"Yeah. What are you thinking?"

"I was going to grill burgers, maybe."

"I don't know if I can eat another burger."

"Well."

"Don't tell me you don't know how to make anything besides steak and burgers."

"I mean, I can _try_ to make other stuff, but that's what I'm good at. And when my family is around, they do the cooking."

"We bought enough stuff at the store that we can definitely do better than that."

They go through the sliding glass door to the kitchen, Brandon following Andrew back into the house. Brandon opens the fridge and frowns at the contents, putting together ideas in his head, then starts pulling out various things: chicken, vegetables, some stuff to make a quick, easy marinade. He puts Andrew on vegetable-chopping duty because it seems like something he can handle. Surprisingly, he finds skewers in one of the drawers, and they assemble the kabobs together.

Andrew looks over at him and says, "This isn't that hard."

"See, you could've been cooking for yourself all this time."

"I wouldn't go that far. I'm pretty lazy. How'd you learn to cook, anyway?"

"My mom taught me. And I liked it enough that I worked in a restaurant when I was in high school, before hockey took over everything."

"Yeah, I remember you told me that once, about the restaurant."

They're close enough, working side by side on one of the counters, that Brandon can feel the warmth of Andrew's skin. This is bad. This is so, so bad. He realizes he's staring at Andrew's forearms and focuses extra hard on sliding chicken and vegetables onto the skewers.

Once the kabobs are done and on a plate, they go out to the deck, where Andrew fires up the grill. "I'm pretty sure I can handle this part," Andrew says, and he winks at Brandon, or tries to.

"You look like something is wrong with your eye when you do that," Brandon says. "You're not as good at winking as Rose."

Andrew throws back his head and groans, and Brandon laughs as he heads back inside to put together a salad.

*

The next morning, they wake up early to pick up Saad and Leddy at the airport. They could get a cab or hire a car service or something, but Andrew insists on picking them up out of some sense of friendly duty.

"Why can't we take my car?" Brandon asks, hesitantly approaching Andrew's Jeep.

"Because we're taking mine." He sounds like he means business, so Brandon doesn't push it. As they get in, Andrew says, "You guys are always giving me shit about my car, but I don't care. It looks sick and you're jealous."

Brandon laughs and buckles his seatbelt. "Sure, yeah. You can believe whatever you want."

Andrew sighs and shakes his head, like Brandon doesn't get the appeal of 37-inch tires, which he really, truly doesn't. Andrew pushes the button for the radio and fiddles around with the touchscreen until he lands on a country station.

"I'm surprised you can even get satellite radio out here," Brandon says.

"We're not _that_ far removed from civilization."

"This place is in the middle of nowhere."

Andrew turns onto the main road and reaches into the center console for his sunglasses, which he puts on one-handed. "We're only an hour from Belleville."

"Which is two hours from Toronto."

"I have the lake, and my boat, and the dogs. I don't really need anything else," Andrew says. "I like being away from everything."

"I like it, too."

"Then stop complaining."

"I'm not complaining. I'm making observations." Brandon pulls his Bears cap lower on his head so it covers his eyes. "Anyway, I'm glad you invited me here. It's nice to get away for a little bit. Get my mind off things."

Andrew glances over at him as they come to a stop sign. "You're gonna be okay, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"In Calgary. You don't have anything to worry about."

"I'm not worried."

And he isn't, but he's thought a lot about getting used to a new coach, a new system, new teammates, and a new city. He still has three months before training camp, and sometimes he catches himself still thinking that he'll be at Notre Dame. Instead he'll be a few thousands miles away, away from home, away from his friends and some of the only teammates he's known since college.

"It's a lot of changes," Andrew says, turning down the volume on the radio.

"Yeah, I know. But I'm prepared for it. Or as prepared as I can be."

"Have you started looking for a place yet?"

Brandon looks out the window. "No. I kind of -- that's the one thing I'm avoiding."

"You still have time. It's only been a week since you got the news, and training camp is in what, September?"

"I know, but I can't even bring myself to start looking at listings. Like if I keep putting off finding a place to live, it doesn't feel like I'll actually be moving."

Andrew doesn't say anything at first. "Are you keeping your place in Chicago?"

"You mean the one I just bought?" Brandon says, and he can hear the bitterness in his voice. "Yeah, I think so. I want to live there during the offseason." He sighs. "We can talk about something else."

"I'm not used to having serious conversations with you," Andrew says. "Usually it's the two of us making fun of each other."

"I can find something about you to make fun of, if you want."

"Nah, I'm okay." Andrew shakes his head and looks over at Brandon.

"Too bad. You're wearing mandals; that's pretty funny."

"What the fuck are mandals?"

"Man sandals."

"I mean, I'm a man" -- Andrew starts, and when Brandon snorts at that, Andrew glares at him for a second before returning his attention to the road -- "I am; I'm almost twenty-three, shut up."

"Twenty-three and maybe a hundred and sixty-five pounds soaking wet, but go on."

Andrew sighs irritably. "Anyway, if I'm a man and I wear sandals, aren't any sandals I wear mandals?"

"No. Mandals are a specific type of sandal. They cover like fifty percent of your foot. See, I have on flip-flops. They're not mandals."

"Yours don't even count as shoes." Andrew takes his eyes away from the road again to shoot Brandon a grin.

"Your shoes have a fucking buckle, Shawzy. A _buckle_. You know who else wears shoes with a buckle on them? My grandpa and my one-year-old nephew. Shoes with buckles are only for the very old and the very young."

"I'm sorry you find my footwear so offensive."

"I don't find it offensive. Just amusing."

"Well, your face is amusing," Andrew retorts.

"That's such a weak comeback, I don't even know how to respond."

"This is how you respond: ‘Wow, you're totally right, my face _is_ amusing.'"

"You like my face, though."

"Stop it."

"I see the way you look at me sometimes," Brandon says, teasing.

And then something happens that he wasn't expecting: Andrew blushes. His cheeks turn pink, and he sputters, "I -- what -- what do you mean, the way I look at you sometimes?"

"You look at me like you're thinking, ‘Yeah, I like his face.'"

"It's -- it's not _terrible_ ," Andrew says, trying to make it sound like a compliment.

"But you said it was amusing a minute ago."

Andrew groans. "You know, you're really hard to deal with sometimes."

"So are you, so I guess we're even."

A couple minutes pass before Andrew says softly, "I don't look at you a certain way."

Brandon could say something back, but he doesn't say much the rest of the way to the airport.

*

They're a half hour early to pick up Leddy and Saad, so Andrew parks and they go inside to wait at baggage claim. Brandon gets a bottled water and walks around, grateful for the chance to stretch his legs after the time spent in the car. Andrew is unusually quiet, sitting in one of those uncomfortable airport chairs and playing with his phone. Brandon sits next to him, nudging Andrew's foot with one of his.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi."

Andrew doesn't look up from his phone, so Brandon sits there staring at his own phone for a few minutes, scrolling through Twitter but not pausing to read many of the tweets, just trying to keep himself occupied. He gets the impression that whatever happened in the car is going to change the entire tone of this trip, and he wonders if he can make it through the next three days with things feeling weird and awkward and silent between them.

"Maybe sometimes I do look at you a certain way," Andrew says all of a sudden, like he's put a lot of thought into how to say this. Brandon's head jerks up at his words. "But you look at me a certain way, too."

Brandon is about to protest, but Andrew cuts him off with, "Don't even try to deny it. It's been going on since Rockford."

As if on cue, that's exactly when Leddy and Saad show up at baggage claim, and Andrew jumps out of his seat to greet them with bro-hugs. Brandon stays frozen for a moment before remembering, oh, yeah, he shouldn't be a dick and he should go say hi to his friends, too.

He's not going to deny it, but he couldn't have been that obvious for the past three years.

*

Once they're back at the cottage, Andrew runs into the house, racing no one to get inside, whooping and yelling, "Time to party!"

Brandon stands there looking after him while Leddy and Saad get their suitcases out of the trunk.

"He seems pretty excited," Leddy says, giving Brandon a wary look.

"I don't even know what he has planned, but I do know that we bought lots of beer yesterday," Brandon says.

"Do we get to go on the boat?" Saad asks, and he hurries into the house after Andrew, repeating the question loudly enough so Andrew can hear.

Brandon and Leddy share a look. "Uh, so," Leddy says, clearing his throat, "how have things been so far?"

"Good."

Leddy raises his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Nothing. We should probably go inside."

"Yeah, probably. I don't know if you've heard, but it's time to party," Brandon says.

Leddy groans. "I don't even want to know what Shawzy's idea of ‘time to party' is."

"I'm gonna guess it's a slightly more subdued version of the partying he did after winning the Cup."

"Seriously, I think my liver is still recovering from that."

"Mine, too," Brandon says, putting an arm around Leddy's shoulders and steering him toward the house.

*

Within a half hour or so, they've all changed into swim trunks and are on Andrew's boat with a fuckton of beer. Brandon is no expert, but he's sure Andrew is breaking the law by drinking and operating a boat at the same time. He seems to be making a point of not getting drunk, though, and eventually he docks the boat and they all sit there drinking in the sun, Brandon taking back his thought from the day before that they bought way too much beer for four dudes.

Saad and Leddy sit on one side of the boat, Andrew and Brandon opposite them. There's not a lot of room, and one of his thighs is pressed against Andrew's. And Andrew doesn't seem to notice or care, but all Brandon can focus on is everywhere they're touching, the awareness of it buzzing through him. He's so out of it that when Saad asks him a question, Brandon hardly even registers what he's saying.

"Dude, are you asleep or something?" Andrew elbows him.

"No. Sorry, what?"

"I just asked about, uh. The trade thing. Have you talked to any of the guys in Calgary?"

"Um, Giordano got my number somehow. He texted to welcome me to the team and said to let him know if I needed help with anything."

It was nice, and unexpected. Brandon isn't sure yet if he'll take him up on the offer, but at least his new captain seems to have his back.

"I think they have a good group of guys there," Saad says.

Brandon nods. He doesn't want to be an asshole and say this isn't a topic he wants to discuss on vacation, but Andrew saves him by launching into a story.

"Did I tell you guys about how Josh got drunk and woke up in the woods without any pants on?"

Saad and Leddy share a look and shake their heads no. Brandon shakes his head, too, and while he's grateful for the subject change, he has to wonder about the level of shit Andrew and his brothers seem to get into.

"So we were out on the boat, right, but it was starting to get dark out so Jason and I were like, ‘Let's go inside,' but Josh said he was feeling a spiritual connection with the moon or something and wanted to stay outside by himself," Andrew says, barely able to stop himself from laughing.

"How drunk was he at this point?" Brandon asks.

"I don't know, pretty drunk. So we're like, ‘Okay, dude, you go hang out with the moon or whatever,' and the next time we saw Josh was in the morning, and he said he fell asleep outside and his pants were missing."

Leddy side-eyes Andrew. "Did you ever find the pants?"

"Of course we did; we stole them while he slept," Andrew says, and he slaps his thigh and starts cracking up. "I mean, he took them off; they were on the ground next to him. When we went to check on him he was just _out_ , so we stole his pants and ran back in the house."

"You're a terrible brother," Brandon says.

"That's not true. I have a hat that says, ‘World's Greatest Brother' that Josh bought me when we were younger," Andrew says, totally deadpan.

"Let me guess, Jason was offended."

"I mean, yeah. He tried to punch Josh, so I hit Jason, and then our dad had to pull us apart."

"You guys make the fights my sister and I had sound tame by comparison. We never beat each other up as kids, but we'd argue sometimes," Brandon says.

"Fighting each other was kind of a thing for us."

"Is it still a thing?" Saad asks.

"Not so much anymore. We just laughed about us stealing Josh's pants. He loved it."

It sounds like the Shaws spend most of the summer inebriated, boating, and pulling pranks on each other. And based on what Brandon has heard, all four kids in the family -- Andrew, his two brothers, and his sister -- were a handful growing up. Brandon and his sister never gave their parents any trouble, not really. There were some things, like talking back sometimes or doing normal, obnoxious kid stuff, but mostly they were straight-A students who behaved themselves. Brandon was such a good kid that when he started fighting on the ice in high school, he initially felt pangs of guilt about what his mom would think. That was until he realized he was good at it, and it was exhilarating and kind of fun.

They stay on the boat a little bit longer, going for another couple of laps around the lake until Leddy drinks the last beer and Andrew turns the boat back toward the dock. Once the boat is safely docked, Saad clambers out first, Leddy following after him, both of them picking up a few empty cans and mumbling their thanks to Andrew for taking them out on the water.

Brandon stays, telling himself it's to help Andrew clean up. "Just so you know, if you ever try to pull a prank on me like the one you pulled on your brother, I'll be pissed."

"I wouldn't even think of it."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?" Andrew looks him up and down over the tops of his Wayfarers, and Brandon tries not to notice how fucking heated that look is. Jesus Christ. "You're bigger than me and could kick my ass if you wanted to."

"Like someone being bigger than you has ever stopped you before."

"True."

"Anyway, I'd never kick your ass," Brandon says, giving Andrew a gentle punch to the shoulder. "Not even if you stole my pants."

"Well, that's heartwarming."

"But I would try to think of an equally awful prank to pull on you."

"Like what? You have to have some ideas."

"I could do what Crow did to me and put honey in your shoes or something."

Andrew cackles. "You were so pissed about that."

"Those were nice fucking shoes!" Seriously, Brandon is still pissed about that. He loved those shoes. Fucking Crow.

"It's not like you can't afford new ones."

"Not the point."

"You still haven't gotten him back for that."

"I think the opportunity's passed," Brandon says, picking up a couple of the empty cans. "There might be a statute of limitations."

"No such thing. There's always an opportunity to get back at someone." The way Andrew says it, it sounds like his mantra.

Brandon shrugs. "I don't know when I'd be able to do it, though. It's not like -- we're not exactly gonna be seeing a lot of each other."

Andrew's eyebrows furrow together and he doesn't say anything for a moment. "Oh. Right. I keep forgetting about that sometimes."

"Me, too."

"Sorry. I can, like, not bring it up." He looks at Brandon, not quite at his face but somewhere over his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it." 

Their fingers brush when they both reach for the same handle on the cooler, and it's stupid how Brandon's fingers tingle as he thinks about closing them over Andrew's. He pulls away first, though.

"I'll get this side," Andrew says, so Brandon takes the handle for the other side. But instead of picking up the cooler to take it into the house, they just look at each other. It's a second or two, but the moment stretches out long enough to feel weird.

"We should take this inside, yeah?" Brandon finally says.

"Yeah." Andrew nods. "And I don't know about you, but I'm probably taking a nap."

"I'm not that tired."

"I get in the habit of sleeping in the afternoon even when I don't have a game later. I get really cranky if I don't get a nap in."

"We wouldn't want that."

That gets a small smile out of Andrew. "Trust me, you wouldn't."

They're still standing there, looking at each other from either end of the cooler that probably doesn't even need two people to carry it back inside. Sure, it's heavy, even when it's just filled with a bunch of cans to put in the recycling, but it's not that heavy. There's something unsaid in the air, and Brandon goes back to earlier at the airport, which feels like it happened forever ago, not a few hours ago. But he's not about to bring up that conversation, not after they were just kidding around now.

"Come on," Brandon says as he gets them moving, out of the boat and up the dock to the house, until the cooler is back where Andrew usually keeps it. "I'll take care of putting the cans in the recycling. Go sleep."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Thanks." Andrew yawns and stretches, his back to Brandon as he walks toward his bedroom. Brandon can't look away from how the muscles in his back move. "I'm gonna set an alarm, but wake me up by four if I don't get up."

He sneaks one last glance at Andrew. "Okay."

Andrew turns around and looks at him one last time, like he thinks Brandon is going to say something else. But it’s just weirdly quiet again until Andrew gives up, walking the rest of the way down the hall and closing his bedroom door.

Brandon finishes taking care of the recycling and takes out the trash, too, because he needs something to do that isn't lying around thinking about shit.

What the fuck is his life that he's getting like this because Andrew was sitting that close to him, because they touched, because of that look? They've spent a lot of time being in close physical proximity to each other on benches during games, at bars, on his couch, at any number of places. It's nothing new, except for how this time Brandon can't make that part of his brain shut down. Maybe it's because this feels like his last chance. After he leaves the cottage, his opportunity to make a move, to do something about how he's felt about Andrew, will be gone -- not entirely gone, but close to it, given how infrequently they'll be seeing each other from now on.

There's a voice in his head that keeps repeating that Andrew isn't off-limits anymore. But if Brandon knows what's best for him, he should be.

If you spend three years wanting someone, eventually it's going to start affecting you. Eventually you won't be able to ignore it anymore. Brandon guesses he's finding that out the hard way.

*

Later, once they've all slept a few hours and sobered up, Brandon starts making dinner, mostly because he figures if he doesn't do it, no one else will. He's restless enough that being in the kitchen helps calm him down and forces him to stop thinking about how Andrew seemed to press against him on purpose earlier, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe if Saad and Leddy hadn't been there, Brandon would have done something about it, like pull Andrew onto his lap and kiss him. Snake his hands around Andrew's back and hold him close, feeling Andrew's sun-warmed skin under his fingertips.

Thinking about this while cutting things isn't good, because Brandon comes dangerously close to slicing his finger.

He's totally losing his cool.

Speaking of which, Andrew wanders into the kitchen, looking sleep-rumpled and still wearing his swim trunks. "Do you need help?"

The rasp of his voice is a jolt to Brandon's system. "I'm okay. But thanks." He sounds terse to his own ears; that's not the tone he was going for at all.

Andrew stares at him, but Brandon doesn’t look back.

"You're making this weird,” Andrew says.

“Huh?”

“After what I said at the airport." Andrew crosses his arms over his chest, and Brandon wishes he'd put a shirt on.

"I'm not making this weird." Brandon finally looks at him, then goes back to concentrating on cutting potatoes. Concentrating very, very hard.

Andrew's quiet beside him for a moment. "Okay, then." His tone sounds about as terse as Brandon's had.

"Okay."

Andrew sighs and runs a hand over his hair, and then he goes out onto the deck, the dogs following after him.

It's definitely weird now.

*

Dinner isn't too bad, though. Once Brandon gets the grill going for steaks, Andrew decides to help, even though he's still not saying more words to Brandon than absolutely necessary. Brandon has never been one to give someone the silent treatment. He'd rather talk shit out than pretend like problems don't exist. In his experience, that's always better than hoping something goes away or refusing to acknowledge that there's even an issue in the first place. It's not like Andrew is being rude; he's evasive, and there's a difference. Although, to be fair, Brandon is being pretty evasive, too.

Even though it's starting to get dark, everyone lingers outside for a while, full and sated after a good meal. Brandon is talking to Saad about some of the training he's been doing this summer while Leddy shows Andrew pictures on his phone.

"How long are you here for?" Saad asks.

"I got here yesterday, and I go home on Wednesday."

The word "home" pulls at something inside him. Within the past year or so, without Brandon even realizing it, Chicago started to be synonymous with home. Of course, there was always St. Louis -- his first home, where he grew up, and where his family still lives -- but something about Chicago feels right, like he belongs there.

"You should ask Shawzy to take you fishing while you're here."

Andrew perks up. "Did I hear my name?"

"I was telling Bollig you need to take him fishing," Saad says.

"We could totally do that tomorrow. All of us," Andrew says, and Brandon has to wonder if Andrew genuinely wants Saad and Leddy to go fishing with them, or if he's avoiding spending any time with him one-on-one.

Fuck, he needs to stop thinking like that. He needs to stop thinking, period.

"Man, I haven't been fishing in forever," Leddy says. "Probably since last summer when I was here."

Andrew rubs his hands together, and it looks more than a little devious. Brandon isn't sure what's so devious about fishing, but Andrew makes it look that way. "We'll definitely go tomorrow, since you guys leave on Monday."

Brandon takes a drink of his beer and reaches down to pet Hershey, who looks up at him with huge brown eyes, her tail wagging. "Sounds good to me."

He doesn't know how long they're out there, but it's long enough that he starts getting tired, the long day finally settling into his bones, until it takes every muscle to get out of his chair. Thankfully they'd already cleaned up after dinner earlier, so all Brandon has to do is get himself to his room and pass out.

Leddy and Saad have already shuffled off to bed, and Andrew took the dogs inside along with all of the beer bottles. Brandon is headed toward the sliding glass door when Andrew steps back onto the deck.

"Hey, I was just going to bed," Brandon says, stepping aside to make room for him to get by.

Andrew nods. "Yeah, me too."

They look at each other for a long moment, and Brandon clears his throat. "Uh, yeah, so I'm going to --" He moves to get around Andrew, but Andrew stands there, looking at him defiantly, almost like he's daring Brandon to leave.

"I know you said this wasn't going to be weird, but it's weird."

"Yeah, because you made it that way," Brandon says, and he immediately wants to take it back; it sounds harsh and immature.

"For fuck's sake," Andrew mutters, looking away from him.

Brandon shuffles his feet. "Sorry. I didn't -- that came out wrong."

"I wasn't sure if I should say anything, but I was sitting there in the airport and it kind of came out. It's been a long time coming."

Three years is a long time. Three years without acknowledging anything, dancing around the issue, telling himself that was fine because Andrew was off-limits, anyway. "So, since Rockford, huh?"

"Yeah. I don't even think you realize you do it sometimes. Like, you know. Looking at me. Flirting. You flirt _a lot_."

Brandon raises a slightly dubious eyebrow, to which Andrew shakes his head in disbelief.

"You flirt with everyone," Andrew says.

"You make me sound shameless," Brandon says, not entirely offended. It's true.

"Because you are." Andrew moves away from the door and over to the railing, looking out at the lake before he meets Brandon's eyes again. "But it's different with me."

"How is it different?"

"You tease me a lot, but there's -- I can't even put my finger on it, but there's something more to it. And there was the stuff that was really obvious, like you used to send me tweets where you called me ‘babe' and hashtagged shit with ‘kisses,' but then you stopped. I kind of miss it."

"I can still call you ‘babe' if you want." Brandon grins. "And I only stopped because Bicks started making fun of me. He called it a crush, like I was in seventh grade or something."

"I think seventh graders are more subtle," Andrew says, leaning against the railing, bracing his arms behind his body, which does great things for the way he looks right now.

Brandon tries to remember what he was thinking about yesterday, about long distance and not being able to do the casual thing with Andrew. Right now, he doesn't care about any of that. All he cares about is touching him, tasting him, seeing if their bodies fit together the way he hopes they will.

"Yeah, ‘subtle' isn't exactly my style."

"No shit."

Brandon takes a step toward Andrew. "Do you want me to be more subtle? Or do you want me to stop? I backed off for a while."

"I noticed, but you were still making yourself pretty clear."

"And here I thought I was being all secretive and shit."

"Well, you said yourself that isn't exactly your style."

Brandon shakes his head and takes another step closer, putting them a few inches apart.

Andrew blows out a breath, and Brandon is close enough that he can feel it on his cheek. "What are you doing?"

Brandon looks at Andrew's mouth, then back to his eyes. "I was going to kiss you, but if you have another suggest--"

"Hey, you guys," Saad says, stepping outside. Brandon jumps back, and Andrew goes wide-eyed, hands dropping to his sides. 

"Left my phone out here." Saad looks between them and it seems to dawn on him what he interrupted. " _Oh_. Oh, shit. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Brandon says, his voice sounding strained.

Saad grabs his phone from the table and holds it up. "I have my phone," he says in a monotone, walking backward toward the door. "I'm going back inside now." He slips into the kitchen and closes the door behind him.

As soon as Saad is inside, Brandon starts laughing. He can't _not_ laugh. Andrew, however, looks like a murderous ball of rage with his fists at his sides and his mouth set in a thin, determined line. Brandon would tell him he looks cute, but that would probably get him killed.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," Andrew says. He pokes Brandon's shoulder. "Stop laughing, asshole."

Brandon composes himself, standing up straight. "The best part is how long it took him to realize what was going on."

"Now we have an audience." Andrew points toward the door, which offers a view of the kitchen and living room. Saad and Leddy are on the couch, watching TV -- or, more accurately, doing a terrible job of pretending to watch it. "See how they keep looking over here?"

"I'm more than willing to give them a show, if you're up for it." Brandon looks in Leddy and Saad's direction, then back at Andrew, smiling. "What do you think?"

Andrew seems to consider it for at least for a few seconds, focusing on Brandon's mouth before he says, "No."

"I guess you'd also say no to trying to sneak away somewhere else to make out."

"I'm not making out with you," Andrew says. He makes a noise of frustration and pushes off the railing and toward the house. "Not as long as they're here."

"Do you want me to go inside first? I think they're less likely to give me shit."

"They better not give either of us shit, or else I'm killing both of them."

Brandon follows Andrew inside, doing his best to be quiet and avoid any questions or chirping. But it's inevitable that somebody is going to say something. If you live in each other's pockets for nine months of the year, you're inevitably all up in each other's business, doubly so if you're close friends.

"Did you guys have a good time?" Leddy calls, and Andrew stomps off to his bedroom with his middle finger held high in the air.

"Nothing happened," Brandon says, not sure why he feels the need to clarify, before going to his own room.

"I've been waiting a long time for this, I'm just saying," he hears Leddy say, and Brandon falls asleep to the muffled sound of the TV and a thousand thoughts racing through his head.

*

Early the next morning, Brandon wakes up to a ton of noise coming from the kitchen. It sounds like Andrew, Saad, and Leddy have formed a band where they play pots and pans instead of musical instruments, it's that bad.

"Dammit," he mutters, when it starts to get too loud once Andrew is chattering away about something and everyone is laughing. He rolls out of bed, reaching for a t-shirt and sweatpants so he can go investigate. It's 7:30 a.m., and he was up a long time after he went to bed last night because all he could do was lie awake thinking about the look Andrew gave him right before they almost kissed. It's kind of pathetic that it kept him up half the night, but it did.

When he walks into the kitchen, Leddy and Saad are sitting at the table and smirking over plates of eggs. Andrew is with them, his face buried in a coffee cup, but the only thing Brandon notices is that he's wearing a soft-looking gray t-shirt that's a little too tight and looks great stretched across his chest.

"I left some food out for you," Andrew says, looking up from his coffee to make eye contact, his gaze moving over Brandon's body. Holy shit, that look is inappropriate for this early in the morning in front of their friends. "And the coffee should still be hot."

"Thanks."

Brandon gets a plate and fills it with eggs, bacon, and fruit, and pours a mug of coffee. He takes his plate over to the table and sits in the empty seat next to Andrew, glancing over at him. Andrew avoids looking back, still concentrating on his coffee. If that's how this is going to go, he can forget about being able to relax for the next few days.

There's a brief moment of awkward silence that Saad decides to make even more awkward by announcing, all too earnestly, "We want you to know that we support you guys."

Andrew looks like he's about to punch someone in the face, so Brandon pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth and says, "Thanks."

"We're your friends, so we wanted you to know that," Leddy adds, but he's smirking. Right, because this is hilarious.

"Jesus fucking Christ, we're not even a couple." Andrew sets his cup down on the table with a thud.

"You looked like a couple last night," Saad says.

Andrew actually growls. "Drop it."

"You're really defensive about this for some reason," Leddy says.

"Listen," Brandon jumps in, "we're in Shawzy's house and we're his guests, so let's be nice to him."

"Damn straight," Andrew mutters to his plate, picking up his fork and using it to spear a strawberry.

Leddy gives Brandon a pointed look. "When are we _ever_ nice to Shawzy?" he jokes.

"Okay, you have a point, but we're going to be nice to him starting now because this is causing him a lot of stress."

He looks over at Andrew and tries not to laugh. Andrew looks rumpled, frustrated, and adorable, and if he could, right now Brandon would wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

Andrew slumps in his chair and stares up at the ceiling. "I'm right fucking here."

Saad still has the earnest thing going on when he says, "We know, buddy, and we care so much about you that we're going to be nice to you all day."

"Which can be hard sometimes," Leddy says.

"If either of you say anything else about this today, I'm making Bollig drive you back to the airport."

"Hey," Brandon says, "why do I have to be the one who drives?"

"Because I'm sure as hell not taking them. And I'm making you drive the Jeep."

"I don't understand why I have to be punished, too."

"Because this" -- Andrew uses his fork to gesture between them -- "is all your fault."

Today should be fun.

*

It's harder than before to tune out the part of his brain that wants to stare at Andrew constantly: at his shoulders, at his back, at his ass. Every single part of him is distracting, and Brandon is glad he's wearing sunglasses so it isn't that obvious he has a staring problem. He doesn't remember it being this bad during the season, probably because he was focused on other things. And probably because Andrew wasn't shirtless all the damn time then.

Brandon concentrates on fishing instead, even though he sucks at it and it's boring as hell. Every other guy he knows that plays hockey is obsessed with fishing. He doesn't get the point of it, but Andrew loves it, which means that Brandon is going to try to love it, too. They sit there for a long time with their lines in the water until Andrew finally gets something on his hook, jumping to his feet and shouting, "Fuck, dude, I got something!"

The fish he reels in is huge and disgusting, but Andrew just grins at it, holding it up by the mouth while it flops around.

"Leds, take a picture of me for Instagram," he says, handing his phone over to Leddy. "And make sure to tag Bicks. I want to make him jealous."

"Any other instructions?" Leddy asks, taking a step backward to get Andrew and the fish in the frame.

“No. Come on, just take the picture.”

Leddy snaps the picture, Andrew smiling and holding up the fish, which has to weigh at least thirty pounds. After Andrew makes sure he likes the picture, he puts the fish back in the water. He’s almost careful about it, and Brandon actually hears him say, "There you go, big guy" to the fish as he watches it swim away.

Andrew wipes off his hands and gets his phone back from Leddy. "Did you make sure to tag Bicks?"

"Yeah. I should start charging you for my social media services."

Brandon can't resist breaking the "be nice to Shawzy" rule for some light teasing. "Maybe if you tweet for him, his tweets will finally be grammatically correct."

"Spelling is hard," Andrew moans, flopping dramatically onto one of the seats, and he opens the cooler to get another beer.

Leddy shoots Brandon a look and a conniving grin. "I'm sure Bollig will volunteer to tutor you if you ask."

"Remember when Smitty and I were actually considering starting a tutoring service for the team?" Brandon shakes his head. "I've never seen worse grammar in my life."

"You say that like it makes you legitimately sad," Saad says.

"It does. It wounds my soul."

Leddy sits down again, arranging himself on the bench next to Saad. "That's deep, man."

"I have a lot of feelings about proper grammar and spelling."

"You're so weird," Andrew chimes in. "I think I'm going to try to make my tweets extra grammatically incorrect for you."

"Dude, they already have terrible grammar and spelling," Brandon says. "I don't know how they can get worse."

"What happened to being nice to me today?" Andrew takes a drink of his beer. "I thought we all agreed to that plan."

"We tried for as long as we could," Leddy says.

Andrew's phone pings with a notification, and he picks it up, scowling at the screen.

"What are you pissed about?" Brandon asks, craning his neck to try to see.

"Bicks just texted me a picture of himself with an even bigger fish, and he wrote, 'Caught this one yesterday.'"

He hands the phone over to Brandon, and sure enough, it's a picture of Bickell looking incredibly serious and holding up a fish even bigger than the one Andrew just caught. Brandon passes the phone to Leddy and Saad so they can take a look.

"Yeah, I think he wins this round of who can catch the bigger fish," Saad says.

Leddy takes the phone. "I'm going to text him back, 'You win, yours is bigger.'"

Andrew gets up and snatches the phone out of Leddy's hands. "Sometimes I question why we're friends."

Saad stands, looping an arm around Andrew's shoulders and pulling him in for a side hug. "Because we love you."

Andrew wiggles his way out of the hug. "You're killing my vibe right now. I get in the zone when I'm fishing."

"You're mostly drinking, not fishing," Brandon points out.

"Whatever, that's part of getting in the zone."

Brandon looks at the bin next to Andrew's feet. "I think you got in the zone a long time ago."

Andrew follows Brandon's line of sight and grins. "Yeah, maybe I did."

"It's a good thing I'm the designated boat captain, then."

"It's too bad we don't have a hat for you. You'd look good in a hat."

"I left my captain's hat at home."

"Why am I not surprised that you actually have a captain's hat?" Leddy asks.

Brandon shrugs. "I don't even remember where I got it. I think my old roommate gave it to me."

"You're still the captain of this boat, even if you don't have a hat to make it official," Andrew says, picking up his fishing rod again so he can get in the zone or whatever.

A minute or two later, he starts to make a bunch of noise when he gets something on his hook. He pulls in another huge fish, and this time takes an even more ridiculous Instagram to go with it, sticking his tongue out and pointing at the fish. As social media assistant, Leddy is in charge of posting this picture, too, and Andrew instructs him to caption it "#beauty #bass #brotime #boating."

"Nice alliteration with your hashtags," Brandon says, and he means it only kind of sarcastically.

"I _am_ really good at hashtags." Andrew says this like it's a huge accomplishment that he should be congratulated on.

"Don't I get some credit?" Leddy asks.

Andrew rolls his eyes. "Dude, all you did was type them."

"I like the ‘bro time' one," Saad says. "Good job, Shawzy."

Andrew's entire face lights up. "We should get t-shirts made. Hashtag bro time t-shirts!"

"If you get me one, I'm burning it," Brandon says. "I'm not wearing anything with a hashtag on it."

"If I put it on a crop top, will you wear it?" Andrew grins.

"That would be an insult to crop tops everywhere," Brandon says.

He does love a good crop top. It's not like he's walking around the streets of Chicago with one on, but they're good for costumes and when you're drunk on a boat on Lake Michigan celebrating a Cup win.

"You'd totally wear it," Andrew says, looking over at him, confident in his assessment of Brandon's fashion choices.

They hang out, fishing and drinking, until they get too tired, too hungry, or too drunk (Andrew is all three) and decide to head back to the cottage. Brandon takes a long shower, and once he's dressed, he goes to find Andrew, but he's already asleep on the couch with one dog curled up next to him and the other one at his feet. He's also snoring, albeit softly, and Charlie -- the little white fluffball dog -- looks up at Brandon with his tail wagging. Brandon puts his finger to his lips in a "shh" gesture, like the dog will understand, and Charlie settles down next to Andrew again.

And a funny thing happens when he finds Andrew asleep like that: something tugs at Brandon, something that feels a lot deeper than the affection he's always had for him as a friend, something that scares the shit out of him. He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair, and goes to the kitchen to get some water to take with him back to his room.

He doesn't do this. He doesn't get involved with people; he doesn't feel anything other than attraction and desire. He's had two girlfriends, a long time ago, one in college and one right after he signed his first contract and moved to Rockford, and neither relationship lasted more than a few months. He was a shitty boyfriend. Sure, he didn't cheat or act like an asshole, but he wasn't thoughtful or invested in the relationship. Everyone else has been a hookup, mostly girls, but quite a few guys, too. He liked that: he could hook up, have fun, have some great sex, and move on without any of the stuff he's feeling now. It was easy.

He should run away from whatever this is. He knows that, has been thinking about it for most of the day. But then last night happened. And if last night proved anything, it proved that Andrew felt the same way, or at least was interested enough to not say no when Brandon almost kissed him. If Andrew did say no, or it seemed like for even a moment he wanted Brandon to back off, Brandon would. But they've pushed and pulled at each other for a long time, and lately it's like things are building to an inevitable conclusion, like this is what was supposed to happen all along, ever since they met and Brandon immediately found himself drawn to that brash, funny, fierce as fuck kid who would do anything for his teammates, even the ones he'd just met.

He wants to go wake up Andrew, ask him to pick up where they left off last night, the moment when Brandon leaned in and it seemed like everything stopped.

But for now, he sits there and waits.

*

Brandon makes dinner again that night, settled into his unofficial role as cook. Throwing together some pasta is easy, anyway, and the other guys keep him company in the kitchen, stepping in to help when they can. He makes Andrew slice and sauté mushrooms, which he does with a level of concentration that borders on intense. It makes Brandon want to kiss him. He always wants to kiss Andrew, but the look on his face right now especially makes Brandon want to.

Unfortunately, their friends are also in the room, so it's not going to happen. He pushes the thought aside, but then they catch each other's eye while Andrew is setting the table and Brandon is finishing up in the kitchen, and he's back to thinking about kissing him again.

It's raining outside, so they eat at the kitchen table. Saad and Leddy leave tomorrow afternoon, and it's bittersweet -- this is the last meal the four of them will share until the next offseason, unless they manage to see each other for dinner or something whenever the Blackhawks play the Flames. He's not used to this, the idea of not seeing his friends, knowing this is the last time they'll all be together like this for a while.

"Thanks again for dinner, Bollig," Saad says as they finish up, and Brandon brushes it off.

"No problem. And you guys helped."

Andrew looks up from his plate. "Sort of. I'm kind of going to be lost as far as feeding myself once you're gone. I'm good at breakfast, but that's about it."

Oh, yeah. He's leaving in a few days. He's settled so much into the routine here already that he's lost track of how many days he has left.

"I'm sure you'll survive," Leddy says, smirking.

"Probably, if my parents come back up here."

"Or you could ask Bollig to stay."

Brandon laughs, but he doesn't say anything, and neither does Andrew, although Andrew looks at him for a moment like he might be considering it. When they were out on the boat, he had that thought in passing: that he could stay here the rest of the summer at the cottage, cooking and boating, spending his days out in the sun and his nights hanging out with Andrew. Or, you know, spending his nights doing a lot more than just hanging out with Andrew.

But this isn't real life; this is some different reality where he doesn't have to move to another city and play for another team and find a new place to live. Where he doesn't have to leave his friends and teammates behind. Being at the cottage is fun, but it's also one big distraction from the rest of his life. While it's fine for him to be distracted for a few days -- he _needed_ to be distracted for a few days -- he can't spend all summer like this. And it doesn't help that he and Andrew are doing ... whatever it is that they're doing.

"So, uh," Brandon says, trying for a subject change. "You guys have been in Pittsburgh all summer?"

Saad's face immediately brightens. "Yeah, it's been awesome."

"His mom says she wants me to move in with them every offseason," Leddy says, and the two of them share a smile.

They talk about what Saad and Leddy have been up to in Pittsburgh: Pirates games, going to the bars on Carson Street, hanging out at the pool at Saad's house, and getting in some time at a local rink. Brandon still isn't sure why Leddy is spending the entire summer with Saad in his hometown, but he's not asking about their bromance or whatever. Even if the two of them look like they have hearts in their eyes when they start talking about the time they've spent together. It doesn't surprise him that much, but he's not going to push for details.

Brandon clears the table with Leddy after dinner, taking the plates over to the kitchen sink. Saad is loading the dishwasher, but Andrew keeps trying to smack his ass with a dishtowel and laughing. Saad has a look on his face like, _God, this little shithead_ , but it's fond, too. Brandon knows that look well; eventually, after a while, it's the one all of Andrew's friends get when they're around him. Slowly, all of their teammates got that fondly exasperated look that said yeah, they were annoyed, but that was their Shawzy, and they loved him, even though he could annoy the hell out of you and he never shut up. Maybe especially because he never shut up.

He bumps Andrew with his hip and wrests the dishtowel out of his hands, which isn't as difficult as he thought it was going to be.

"Saader is loading your dishwasher for you, and that's how you thank him?" Brandon teases.

"It's a cottage hazing ritual," Andrew says, like he didn't pull that excuse out of his ass.

"How come I didn't have to go through it?"

"Because I like you. You're the superior Brandon here."

"Hey!" Saad says, pretending to be hurt, clutching at his chest like he's actually wounded.

Andrew gives Saad a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "I'm just trying to make Bollig feel better," he stage-whispers right into Saad's ear. "You're actually my favorite Brandon."

Saad laughs and shoves him away. "Yeah, right."

"You know, if Pirri was here, it would be a real competition for the best Brandon," Andrew says. "We could have a contest."

"That implies that the participants would be willing," Brandon says, and Andrew sticks out his tongue at him.

Leddy has been watching this with his arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen counter with an amused look on his face. "Yeah, and what's the prize?"

Without missing a beat, Andrew replies, "My love and affection, obviously."

"Well, Bollig would probably win that one," Leddy says, and he keeps smirking, the asshole. "I think he's the only one who would actually want to win."

Brandon shakes his head and goes to get the last of the serving dishes from the table. He knows Leddy is teasing, but it's a sore spot. And it doesn't take a genius to look at the way Andrew and Brandon have been acting around each other to figure that one out.

"My love and affection are big prizes, come on. Everyone would want to win. I don't just give that shit away."

"And what does this contest involve, exactly?" Leddy asks.

"I don't know. Maybe you have to defend my honor. Beat someone up for me or something."

"I'm going to declare myself the winner right now," Brandon says, taking the dishes to the sink and rinsing them off before he puts them in the dishwasher. "We don't have to have a contest."

"Aw, but that's no fun. And that's not how a competition works -- you can't declare yourself the winner."

Brandon lightly cuffs Andrew under the chin. "Too bad. Maybe I want the prize that badly."

Andrew’s eyes get big, and his mouth opens like he’s about to say something. Leddy coughs way too loudly for it to be a real cough, and Saad busies himself by getting a beer out of the fridge. Once he has it, he looks at Leddy and jerks his head in the direction of the deck.

"It looks like the rain let up, so we're gonna go outside," Saad says, and Leddy gives Brandon a look as he goes out the door, mouthing, _Told you so_.

"That got weird real fast," Brandon says, watching them go.

Andrew's face softens, and then he grins. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Now, where would get that idea?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"I mean, you said yourself the other day that I flirt a lot. But I save my best material for you."

Andrew shakes his head. "I don't even know what to do about you saving that shit for me."

"You love it."

"Well, yeah, I do." Andrew sounds like he's admitting defeat. He presses the button to start the dishwasher, seeming to remember why they're in the kitchen in the first place. "It's nice."

"Then why'd you shake your head?"

"Because you're cheesy as fuck, but I still like you."

Brandon musses Andrew's hair, which makes him scowl and try to pat it back into place, even though it was sticking up in several different directions to begin with.

"Think we should go outside?" Brandon asks, watching Andrew still fussing with his hair.

"Probably. They might start thinking we're making out in here, or talking about our feelings or whatever the fuck they think we're doing."

"Do you wanna make out?" Brandon asks, mostly teasing, but serious, too.

Andrew makes a frustrated noise and grabs some beers out of the fridge. "Come on. Get the deck of cards off the counter. We're playing poker, not making out."

"You do want to kiss me, though, right?" Brandon tips back his head and laughs when Andrew turns around to give him one last annoyed look before he goes outside.

He'll take that as a yes.

*

Saad eyes the deck of cards with a wariness that makes it clear exactly how many awful games of cards he's been forced to play with them over the past few years.

"What are we playing?" he asks, glancing at Leddy with a look that says _please help me get out of this_.

"Poker," Andrew says, passing out beers. "It's a cottage tradition."

"You're terrible at poker, though," Brandon points out. "And I think you're making up all of these cottage traditions."

Any game Andrew is terrible at happens to be Brandon's favorite, because he's such a sore loser. Also, nothing delights him more than taking money from his friends. And he's really fucking good at poker.

"I'm not that bad." Andrew takes the cards from Brandon and starts to shuffle them after they sit down.

Saad watches Andrew shuffle the cards. "We're playing for money, right?"

"Nah. I don't want to play for money tonight."

Brandon pulls up the hood on his sweatshirt against the cool evening air. "That makes this the most boring game in the world. We're definitely playing for money."

"Admit it," Leddy says to Andrew, "you don't want to play for money because you're going to lose."

"That's definitely not why." Andrew avoids eye contact with all of them and starts dealing cards.

"It's because he's terrible at bluffing," Brandon says, a slow, easy smile spreading over his face as he watches Andrew.

"I am _not_ terrible at bluffing."

"You obviously don't remember that time Bicks beat you so bad at poker, you didn't talk to him for a week."

Brandon gets a death glare in his direction. You don't bring up The Great Poker Incident of 2013, at least not if you want to still be alive at the end of the night.

"We don't talk about that."

"Bicks still does," Saad says, and he gets a death glare, too.

Andrew is such a sore loser, Brandon almost wants to let him win because it would make him happy. On the other hand, Brandon can be a douchebag when it comes to competing for anything, even if it's a card game with friends and they're not exactly playing for a ton of cash.

Before they get started, he gets up to go play around with the Bluetooth speaker on the other side of the deck. He picks up Andrew’s phone from where it’s sitting next to the speaker and shuffles through his playlists. There's a lot of Taylor Swift -- a whole hell of a lot, but it's mostly her poppier stuff, not her older albums. Brandon will have to tease Andrew about that on Twitter at some point. Scrolling through the other playlists, he finds some artists he recognizes. He's spent enough time around Andrew and all the other guys he knows who love country music that it's started to grow on him. Brandon picks something he remembers Andrew playing on the way to practice once, and takes a look over his shoulder after he presses "play" to see Andrew look up from frowning at his cards to smile at him.

"Luke Bryan. Nice choice," Andrew says as Brandon slides back into his seat.

"It's the only music of yours I actually enjoy."

It's a lie, but he can't resist teasing a little bit. Andrew scoffs at that, but he also nudges Brandon's foot under the table. He's still wearing those god-awful mandals, because of course he is, and staring at his cards.

As he watches Andrew look at his cards, his dissatisfaction with them written all over his face, Brandon is fairly certain that if this were strip poker he would have Andrew naked in no time at all.

Shit, where did that come from? He takes a long drink and tries not to think about anything except the game in front of him.

*

When all is said and done that evening, Andrew owes everyone money, but it's not on the level of The Great Poker Incident of 2013, so Brandon figures they're safe from his wrath (for now).

Saad and Leddy go inside, taking their empties with them and mumbling something about going to bed. The time on Brandon's phone says 11:23, and he should probably follow them inside. He's usually not in bed this early -- his bedtime tends to be closer to two or three in the morning, especially during the offseason -- but the days at the cottage have been long and spent drinking in the sun. They're catching up to him, but he's not tired enough to sleep, not yet.

Andrew pushes his chair back and stands up, stretching, and starts gathering the cards on the table and putting them back in the box. Brandon gets up, too, and goes to turn off the playlist they started once they ran out of Luke Bryan songs, plunging them into sudden silence. Brandon gets the sense that neither of them wants to be the first one to call it a night, so he lingers, his hands gripping the back of one of the chairs as he watches Andrew. Even if he wanted to sleep, the undercurrent of anticipation humming under his skin is too much to let him rest.

Andrew breaks the silence first, and Brandon is grateful. "I was thinking about going for a swim."

"This late?"

"Yeah, why not?" Andrew says, shrugging.

"Because it's kind of cold out here."

"It's not that bad."

"It will be once you're soaking wet."

"Trust me, it's not as bad as you think. Come on." Andrew takes off his shoes and goes to the steps leading down from the deck to the small, grassy area by the lake, waiting for Brandon to follow, looking at him expectantly.

"We don't have swimsuits," Brandon says, and it sounds stupid as soon as he says it.

Andrew looks over his shoulder at him. And then he starts to take off his shirt, and Brandon takes a moment to appreciate the view, frozen there as he watches. He wishes it were his own hands pushing the fabric up, his fingers touching the skin. For now, Brandon just stares, his mouth going dry. Andrew is broader than he looks with clothes on, the muscles in his back flexing as he pulls the shirt off and over his head.

That undercurrent of anticipation is now a full-body thrum, vibrating right down to his toes. Brandon takes off his hoodie and leaves it on the deck, following Andrew down the steps to the water. They're hidden down there, out of view of anyone in the house, so when Andrew strips down to his underwear, Brandon takes his jeans off, too.

"If this is just an opportunity for you to get me to take off my clothes --" Brandon starts to say.

Andrew stands up, kicking the pile of his t-shirt and jeans aside, his wide grin matching Brandon's own. "What if it is?"

"I guess I wouldn't be that upset. I mean, it's not like I'm the only one standing here in his underwear."

Andrew's grin gets even wider. Before Brandon can register what's happening, there's a flash of bare skin, and then Andrew's underwear is on the pile with the rest of his clothes and he's in the water, yelling, "Fuck, that's cold!"

Brandon wants to say "told you so," but he bites his tongue.

"I know you're not shy," Andrew calls out, turning around to face the shore, exposed from the waist up.

Brandon isn't, but there's something nerve-wracking about the dude he wants to bone staring at him while he takes off his boxer-briefs. Actually, staring intensely, like he's going to die if he looks away. Christ, Brandon isn't used to quite that much concentration focused on him when he's about to get undressed.

He inches his underwear down slowly over his hips, pausing right before he lowers the fabric over his cock. He's half-hard already, and the way Andrew is looking at him isn't doing anything to help alleviate that. If anything, he gets harder watching Andrew take a breath and hold it in, his eyes going from Brandon's face to chest to where his thumbs are hooked in the waistband of his underwear.

He's about to take them off all the way when he announces, "I need you to close your eyes."

It's not a modesty thing; he doesn't care about Andrew or anyone else seeing him naked. He's been in enough locker rooms and doesn't care. It's more about drawing things out at this point, trying to take some of the pressure off of feeling like he's on display and not being able to deal with Andrew eyefucking him from twenty feet away.

"Seriously?" Andrew throws back his head and groans.

Brandon struggles to keep a straight face. "Totally serious."

"You can't make me," Andrew says, and if any four words sum up Andrew's personality, those would be it.

"I guess I can't, but I'm going to stand here until you do."

Andrew groans again, but he closes his eyes. "Tell me when I can open them."

Brandon quickly takes off his underwear, tossing them on the pile with his shirt and jeans. Still looking at Andrew, he wades into the water. While he knew it wouldn't be warm, the cold is still a shock, but he doesn't stop to let himself get used to the water. He bites down on his lip to keep from making any noise, swimming close to Andrew, waiting until he's a few inches away to say, "Now."

When he opens his eyes, Andrew looks surprised that Brandon is there, blinking like he can't believe he's real. "Hi."

"Hey." Brandon smiles. "Nice night for skinny-dipping, huh?"

Andrew shivers. "It's fucking _cold_ ; I don't know what I was thinking."

"I know what you were thinking."

"What?"

"That this would be an excuse to get naked with me."

Andrew seems to be hedging before he answers. "Yeah, but I kind of wanted to get in the water, too."

"You seduced me," Brandon says, sounding mock-scandalized.

"Well, someone had to make a move," Andrew says, petulance trickling into every word. "I'm tired of waiting."

"Hey, I tried to make a move last night."

"And Saader ruined it with his stupid fucking phone."

"Yeah, but I can't exactly hold it against him."

"I can." Andrew moves his hands right under the surface of the water. "Anyway, we're alone now. No interruptions."

"I don't think anyone can see us down here, anyway. It's not like anyone's going to come looking for us."

Brandon takes in the glow of the lights from the house, the way the moonlight plays off the water and Andrew's face and chest. They're in shallow water that comes to right above their waists, and it'd be so easy to reach out and touch all that skin. Andrew looks uncharacteristically serious, like he knows what Brandon is thinking.

But then Andrew splashes him, laughing as he does it.

"Oh, I can do that, too," Brandon says, splashing him back, right in his face a couple of times.

Andrew sputters. "Hey, not fair. I didn't get you in the face."

"So?"

Brandon arches an eyebrow, daring him, and seconds later he's got a face full of water. He wipes a hand over his eyes. "You think you're going to get away with that?"

"What are you going to do about it?"

They look at each other, breathing hard, and Brandon moves until there's barely any space between them. He's been waiting and waiting for the right moment, and for all he knows, there may never be a right moment. This feels as close to one as they're going to get, though. He puts a hand on Andrew's chest, leaning in to kiss him with a soft brush of his lips. It's careful and way too chaste, but something about this moment demands caution, and he's not sure why.

When he pulls away, Andrew makes a surprised noise, his fingers curling around the back of Brandon's neck and hauling him closer, holding him there like he's afraid Brandon is going to change his mind.

Like there would be any chance of that, ever.

Andrew closes the distance between them for another kiss, this one less hesitant and more eager, Brandon's hand moving to cradle the side of his face. Brandon is kissing him with intent now, nipping at Andrew's bottom lip, tugging gently with his teeth, and it gets him another of those gasps. All he wants is for Andrew to keep making that noise, wants to memorize it and play it back later, over and over again.

"Fuck," Andrew says, his hand trailing from Brandon's neck down his side, into the water to rest on his hip, when they finally break apart. "Let's get out of here."

Brandon laughs and kisses the corner of Andrew's mouth. "Good idea."

Once they're out of the water, Brandon doesn't even care that he's wet; he wants some of his clothes on for a little bit of warmth. (And also because he doesn't want to walk back to the house with his dick hanging out, because hey, priorities.) He pulls on his underwear, balling up his t-shirt and jeans to carry back inside, sneaking glances over at Andrew the entire time. He catches Andrew doing the same thing as Andrew pulls on his shorts, and the ensuing butterflies in his stomach take him back to being sixteen and having a bunch of unrequited crushes. It's like that: the same feeling of nervousness, anxiety, and need wrapped up inside him until it's all-consuming and he can't think about anything else.

Andrew hesitates before starting up the grass toward the house. "I know I said we should get out of here, but we, uh. I just remembered we kind of have an audience in the house."

"I don't care." Brandon shrugs. He's had sex before with roommates sleeping down the hall; it's not a big deal.

"Not tonight. I want -- when we --"

Brandon grins, loving this side of Andrew. "I didn't expect you to be all nervous and shy about sex, Andy."

"Shut _up_ ," Andrew whispers, even though there's no one around to hear them. "I'm not having sex when two of our friends are here and are like, way too invested in whatever we're doing." He waves his hand in the direction of the house.

"I get that." An idea dawns on him. "What about your car? Or my car?"

" _No_. No fucking way."

Brandon laughs. "I was kidding." He pauses. "Mostly kidding. But hey, they leave tomorrow, so."

Andrew sighs in frustration, his head tipping back. Brandon can't look away from the line of his throat. "Yeah, but waiting another day sucks."

"Tomorrow." Brandon can't resist reaching out and trailing his fingers down Andrew's side, relishing the way it makes Andrew hold his breath. He comes closer and kisses a path from Andrew's mouth, along his jaw, to his earlobe. The shiver he gets in response is all he needs.

"For the record, I'm not shy." Andrew takes a step back to look at him. "I just maybe, you know, have a hard time talking about what I want."

Somehow Brandon finds that hard to believe. Andrew doesn't have a problem talking about anything, and he does it non-stop. "Really?"

Andrew's eyes dart to Brandon's mouth. "No one's ever asked me what I wanted."

This is dangerous territory, considering they're not sleeping together tonight, but Brandon presses on, anyway. He can't help himself. He's given a lot of thought to what Andrew might be like in bed, and for the longest time, he thought Andrew would want hard and fast. Want to be held down and marked up. And there might be a part of Andrew that's into that, but if Brandon had to guess now, after that kiss and the past few days, he'd bet that Andrew likes it slow and romantic. Probably likes to be kissed, likes to see who's fucking him. Brandon would do whatever Andrew wanted, fuck him however he likes, but god, the whole slow and romantic thing would be so good with him.

"What do you want, then?"

Andrew gives him a sly smile and starts toward the house. "I guess you'll have to wait to find out."

"That's not fair," Brandon says, following after him.

"It'll give you something to look forward to."

"I already had enough to look forward to."

"More anticipation can be good."

Brandon pauses on his way up to the house, and Andrew turns around to face him. "I've kind of had enough anticipation."

"Yeah, but now you get to spend the next day thinking all about what I like."

"Trust me, I've already thought about it a lot."

"Yeah? What did you think about?"

He can't help saying it out loud. The air between them is thrumming now, electric and charged. He might as well go for it.

"Before tonight, I thought you'd like it rough, but after that kiss, I think you're into romantic stuff."

"Romantic stuff?"

"You know, slow. Eye contact. Lots of kissing."

Brandon is pushing Andrew's buttons, gauging how right he is by how pissed off Andrew starts to get. He laughs when Andrew, pink-cheeked and eyes blazing (which is a good look for him), stomps up the steps to the deck and calls out, "I'm done talking about this" as Brandon follows behind him.

"But you'll be thinking about it all night."

Andrew stops, and Brandon almost goes right into his back. When he turns around, they're close enough to touch. "No, I won't."

"I know you will."

"You can't prove that."

"I like when you get defensive," Brandon says, grinning. "It's cute."

"You think everything about me is cute," Andrew mutters, walking up the last couple of steps.

"Okay, that's true. I'll give you that."

They're back on the deck now, facing each other, and Andrew pauses with his hand on the door. He looks at Brandon, who watches the annoyance starts to leave Andrew's face, replaced by something softer. "Hey. Anyway. Thanks for tonight."

"Yeah, it was good."

He stands there, still looking at Andrew, not sure what he's waiting for. For Andrew to change his mind? Because as great as tonight was, it's not happening. Besides, Brandon has held out long enough. One more day shouldn't be a problem.

Andrew looks at him again as though he's about to say something, his hand still on the door handle, tightening his hold on it. The moment is only a few seconds long, but it seems like ages waiting for him to speak. Instead of saying anything, though, he shakes his head and slides open the glass door. It takes a second for Brandon's brain to catch up and follow Andrew inside.

Their footsteps, even with bare feet, sound loud in the quiet hum of the house. All the lights are off except for the one above the kitchen sink, and the only noise comes from where the dogs are curled up in the living room, where Charlie is snuffling in his sleep.

"You were right, by the way," Andrew says, walking into the kitchen. He gets a glass of water and takes a drink, leaning against the counter opposite Brandon. He sets down his glass and drops his arms to his sides.

"About what?"

"What I'm into."

And then, because he has to, because there's no way he can't react to that, Brandon drops the clothes he's holding, grabbing Andrew's hand and pulling him in for a kiss. It's hard and fast, everything the first kiss wasn't, their bodies pressed together and Andrew's tongue in his mouth. Brandon backs him up against the kitchen counter, steadying Andrew with his hands on his waist.

"Bedroom," Andrew says against Brandon's lips.

Brandon pulls away long enough to look at him. "You're sure?"

"Yes." Andrew's hands move over Brandon's chest and stomach, his fingers lingering on his abs, to the trail of dark hair underneath. "Can't wait."

He kisses Andrew again, softer this time, and they almost get derailed by kissing and Brandon's efforts to get his hands on as much of Andrew's skin as possible. He warms under Brandon's touch, and when Andrew's tongue touches Brandon's lips for the second time, Brandon deepens the kiss, promising something more.

The next time Andrew pulls away, it's to say, "Bedroom. Now."

"Bossy. I like it."

His fingers toy with the button on Andrew's shorts, his knuckles skimming over Andrew's cock, which gets him another of those gasps he's quickly come to love.

"Seriously, now," Andrew says in between kisses.

Somehow they break apart long enough to walk down the hall to Andrew's bedroom, and as soon as the door closes, Brandon grabs Andrew by the hips and backs him up against the door, pinning him there.

"I think you're wearing too many clothes," Brandon says, taking his time unfastening the button on Andrew's shorts, carefully lowering the zipper and pushing them down. Andrew didn't bother to put his underwear back on, which Brandon somehow forgot, so when Andrew steps out of the shorts and kicks them to the side, he's naked.

Andrew looks into his eyes, a question and a dare. "Touch me."

"Not yet." Brandon still has Andrew pinned to the door, but Andrew's hands are free, one of them going to Brandon's cock, which is still covered by his underwear. Brandon moans, Andrew's thumb rubbing against the head, where the fabric is wet.

"You didn't say anything about not touching you." Andrew smirks, and their eyes meet as he pulls Brandon's underwear down and off. He inhales sharply once Brandon's cock is free, thick and heavy and hard.

And that's so typical of Andrew: tell him he can't have something, and he'll still find a way to get what he wants. It might not be what he originally wanted, but he'll get what he wants all the same.

When Andrew's hand reaches out to touch him, Brandon growls low in his throat and picks him up, his hands fitting under Andrew's knees and lifting him to walk him over to the bed. Andrew makes a small, surprised noise, his legs wrapping around Brandon's waist, fingers digging into Brandon's shoulders in the couple of feet it takes to get him to the bed and on his back. Brandon drops him there, watching as the surprise on his face morphs into something completely different.

"Come here." Andrew's gaze sweeps over him, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he looks at Brandon. Andrew strokes himself a few times like he can't help it, like just looking at Brandon is enough.

"Do you want me to touch you like that?" Brandon takes a step closer, spreading Andrew's legs wide. His hand is big and dark against the pale skin of Andrew's inner thigh, and Brandon stares for a moment, fanning out his fingers.

Andrew whimpers, and Brandon will take that as a yes. He moves onto the bed, fitting himself between Andrew's legs, hovering over him with a hand on either side of his head. Andrew stops jerking himself off, almost like he expects Brandon to take over now. Oh, maybe he will. Eventually. For now, bossing him around -- or trying to -- seems like more fun.

"Actually," Brandon says, his mouth moving over Andrew's jaw and neck, his tongue darting out to taste the skin, "I didn't say you could take your hand off your cock."

"I didn't know I had to take orders from you."

"Technically you don't have to. But you should."

"Why?"

Brandon looks up at him. "It'll be better for you if you do."

Andrew's hand goes to his cock again for a long, lazy stroke. "I'm not sure about that."

"Trust me, it will. I want you to get yourself close for me."

The breath Andrew lets out is a shaky one. He's still slowly jerking himself off as Brandon's mouth goes back to his neck, sucking gently at the base of Andrew's throat.

"I like this spot right here," Brandon says, lifting his head before he goes back to sucking a kiss there.

"That's good, but --" Andrew's words get cut off when Brandon bites the spot. It's gentle, hardly any teeth at all, but it's enough to make Andrew gasp.

Brandon looks up. "But what?"

"You're gonna leave a mark."

"Kind of the point." He soothes his tongue over the faint bloom that's already starting to form. "As long as you like it."

"I definitely like it."

"Good."

Brandon can think of a thousand other places on Andrew's body where he wants to suck kisses into the skin, but there's other things he wants to get to first. His fingers dance up the inside of Andrew's thigh, remembering that as one of the other places to kiss later. Or next time.

Andrew watches him carefully. He's stopped touching his dick, both hands curled in the sheets now. "Know what else I think I'd like?"

Brandon murmurs a "Hm?" into Andrew's skin, his mouth moving over Andrew's chest and stomach, leaving behind little kisses, these feather-light brushes of his lips as he works his way down Andrew's body.

"You fucking me."

His head snaps up, eyes meeting Andrew's. That's not what he was expecting tonight, but holy shit, now it's all he can think about. For someone who apparently has a hard time talking about what he wants, Andrew sure isn't having any problems with it right now.

"And how do you want me to fuck you?"

A breathless noise as Brandon's lips head toward Andrew's cock, his beard scratching against the skin below his navel.

"Like this. On my back," Andrew says, his fingers running through Brandon's hair and tugging on the curls.

Brandon blows a breath against Andrew's skin, leaving behind a few more kisses until his mouth is hovering over Andrew's cock. He wraps a hand around the base, looking up long enough to make eye contact as he licks up the underside and sucks on the head, the tip of his tongue swirling around, tasting him, licking the droplets of pre-come from the slit. Andrew’s grip tightens on Brandon's hair, holding him there.

"Don't wanna come yet," Andrew pants, but the way his hips are moving say otherwise. "Wanna come with you inside me."

Brandon groans, his own cock growing heavier, leaking on the sheets. He pulls off, resting his chin on Andrew's thigh. "You have lube?"

Andrew rolls his eyes and moves to reach the nightstand. "Hurry up," Andrew says as he pushes the bottle into Brandon's hand along with a condom. He keeps saying, "Hurry up, come on," while Brandon pops the cap and gets his fingers slick.

"I think I'll take my time. Get you really worked up for me." Brandon gets to his knees, spreading Andrew's legs, and pauses for a moment, enjoying the sight. Andrew is perfect, all soft skin and lean muscle, and god, Brandon loves being bigger than him, of using his weight to press Andrew into the mattress. He moves a finger around Andrew's rim, earning a hiss. "Wait until you're begging for it."

Andrew huffs, and Brandon takes that moment when Andrew is annoyed and looking ready to mouth off at him to slide his finger inside, far enough to make Andrew moan. He pulls out, adding more slickness to his fingers before pushing two inside.

"God, Brandon." Andrew looks at him through heavy-lidded eyes, and Brandon shoves his fingers up, getting another helpless whimper. "I want your cock _now_ ; fuck, you're so big --"

Of course he's a talker in bed. Brandon would have bet on it.

"Not yet." He presses his fingers against Andrew's prostate, gentle but enough to make Andrew moan again.

"Jesus, _fuck_."

"You like that?" Brandon asks, stretching him. He chuckles as the look on Andrew's face goes from annoyed to blissed out back to annoyed again.

"Fuck you," Andrew grits out, and Brandon grins. Tease him, get him worked up, make Andrew desperate for his cock. That's the plan, and Andrew is going along with it beautifully.

He slips a third finger inside, making Andrew arch his back. He pushes against Brandon's fingers, shamelessly trying to get them deeper. "Now. Please, I'm ready, I want you to fuck me --"

Brandon catches the last word in a kiss and pulls away to open the condom and roll it on. He lines himself up, ready to press inside. "You're sure?"

"I've been telling you I'm ready for the past five min-- _oh_."

Brandon pushes in, slow and steady, his eyes locking with Andrew's. It takes a lot of restraint not to go faster, but he wants to savor this, make it last as long as possible. His arms slide under Andrew's knees, lifting them higher around his waist and letting him slide in the rest of the way. He starts to move, keeping the same slow pace even as Andrew's hips urge him to go faster.

"This is good?"

Andrew's hands travel down Brandon's back to his ass, bringing him closer. "Yes."

And then Andrew drags him down for a kiss, and Brandon will be damned if it isn't the hottest, filthiest kiss he's ever had, an edge of desperation to it that threatens to make him come right then and there. His pace gets faster, still steady, but he's already starting to lose control, unable to help himself. Brandon pushes in hard on purpose, knowing it'll make Andrew gasp, and it does, right against his lips. He pulls back, trying to slow down again, moving in and out in long strokes.

Andrew is quieter with a dick inside him; the only sounds he makes are little hitches in his breathing when Brandon rocks his hips. Sometimes he exhales on Brandon's name, which only urges him on. Brandon knows he's close, wants to start fucking Andrew faster until those gasps get louder and they both come.

"Touch yourself," Brandon says, his voice rough and demanding.

He half expects Andrew not to do it because he can never take orders without questioning them first, but Andrew holds his gaze, his eyes going darker and his hand moving to slip between them. It goes down his abs and wraps around his cock, using the beads of pre-come on the head to get it slick and wet.

"Like this?" He never looks away from Brandon's face, not once, his hand twisting on the upstroke.

"Just like that."

Brandon's thrusts start coming faster, Andrew moving his hand and hips in time. "Come for me," Brandon says, bracing his hands on the bed, his breath blowing hot against Andrew's cheek.

It's like Brandon's given him permission, because it doesn't take long after that for Andrew to come, and come hard. Brandon pushes in again, as deep as he can go, and he groans, pulling Andrew close, coming with his face buried in Andrew's neck. They collapse against each other and don't move for a few minutes, legs tangled together, breathing hard. He hears Andrew whisper, "Holy shit," and Brandon smiles into his neck, taking the opportunity to press kisses there.

After another minute of lying there sweaty and exhausted, Brandon pulls out and gets rid of the condom, tossing it in a trashcan by the bed and getting the box of tissues from the nightstand to clean up. One of the tissues might miss the trashcan when he tosses them aside, but doesn't care, spooning up behind Andrew and kissing his shoulder.

"So," Andrew says, turning in Brandon's arms so he's on his back, his fingers tracing over the tattoo on Brandon's biceps, "if I'd known you were that good, I would've been trying harder to get in your pants."

The corner of Brandon's mouth goes up. "Harder."

Andrew's eyebrows knit together for a moment, and then he rolls his eyes. "Ha, yeah, ‘hard,' you're hilarious."

"And good in bed, don't forget that part."

"You just made me come; do you really need to have your ego stroked right now?"

He can't help it. "Stroked."

Andrew groans into Brandon's chest. "Stop before I change my mind about having sex with you again."

"So you're saying you definitely want to do that again." Brandon might sound too hopeful, but hey, that was amazing, and he's going to take every opportunity he can to repeat it.

"Yeah." Andrew lifts his head to look at him before settling against Brandon's chest again. He moves an arm around Andrew, stroking his fingers up and down his back, and Andrew sighs.

Brandon closes his eyes. It has to be after one in the morning at this point. "Maybe in the morning."

"I'll hold you to that," Andrew says before he falls asleep.

*

Monday morning, Brandon wakes up to a warm, sleeping Andrew in his arms and the realization that he has to leave in two days. And that he has no clue what happens next with anything, but especially no clue about what happens next with the dude who's currently plastered to his chest and possibly drooling on him. He's pretty fucking cute, though, so Brandon lets it slide.

Andrew starts to stir and lifts his head to greet him with a sleepy smile.

"Hey, hot stuff, ready for round two?" are the first words out of Andrew's mouth. He grins hugely, like that's a great line. God, he's such a dork, and Brandon couldn't want him more.

"Not if you're referring to me as ‘hot stuff.'"

"I like it. It's a good nickname for you. Brandon ‘Hot Stuff' Bollig."

"Remind me again why I'm in bed with you?"

Andrew grins and rolls them so Brandon is on top of him. "That's easy."

"Oh, yeah?"

Brandon pushes Andrew's arms above his head and threads their fingers together, kissing him. For a while, he forgets about leaving the cottage in a few days, forgets about what this means and if it's going somewhere and lets himself enjoy being with Andrew while he can.

*

Once they've showered, Brandon goes to the kitchen to make coffee and feed the dogs while Andrew gets dressed. He takes a mug out to the deck and settles in one of the chairs, looking out at the lake. He closes his eyes and breathes in the fresh air, his hands curling around his cup. Not for the first time, he sees why Andrew likes it here so much.

The door to the deck opens, and he hears bare feet walking across the wood. Leddy sits down next to him, yawning hugely and rubbing his eyes. Brandon pretends not to be disappointed that it isn't Andrew, fresh out of the shower with wet hair and smelling like Brandon's soap.

"Morning," Leddy says, his hands around his own coffee mug. His voice is rough, like he didn't get enough sleep.

"Hey."

They're both quiet for a few minutes, staring at the water, until Brandon says, "What time's your flight?"

"Not until later. Like four o'clock or something."

More silence, but thankfully it's not the awkward kind. It's relaxed, early-morning silence, and Brandon can deal with that. Enjoy it, even.

"I don't know what you and Shawzy are doing," Leddy says, and Brandon turns to look at him, surprised. "I don't think it's any of my business, but you guys are my friends, so."

Brandon takes a drink, preparing himself for whatever Leddy is going to say next. "And?"

Leddy shrugs and sips his coffee, swallowing before he speaks again. "I don't know. Don't fuck it up?"

"I'll try not to." Brandon looks back out at the water. "So, you and Saader, eh?"

Leddy looks like he's about to choke on his coffee, and Brandon laughs. He'll take that as confirmation.

*

The last day Leddy and Saad spend there is a lazy one. Pretty much every day is a lazy one, but they don't even get out on the boat. Brandon swears Andrew spends most of the day sleeping on Leddy's shoulder while they all watch something on Netflix.

It's selfish, sure, but Brandon is looking forward to it being just Andrew and him at the cottage. He's glad to have his other friends around, especially since it'll be a while before they all see each other again and it's possible by the end of the summer that Leddy will be leaving Chicago, too. Brandon has been trying to ignore the internet since his own trade, but he checked Twitter earlier and saw an article saying that the Hawks still had to deal someone to get under the salary cap. Leddy's name was mentioned as one of the most likely candidates. They haven't talked about it -- and it's not something Brandon has thought about bringing up -- but he gets a vibe that Leddy is ready to go and maybe even wants the trade.

Leddy and Saad get a car service to take them back to the airport, and Andrew and Brandon follow them outside to say goodbye. Andrew insists on a group hug with everyone; even the dogs try to work their way into it. Brandon swears he hears him whisper, "hashtag brotime" when they all pull away.

"I'll see you guys at the convention!" Andrew calls out as they get into the car.

That's one more thing Brandon can cross off his to-do list for this summer. He's sure he'll see everyone in Chicago for dinner during the convention, but it sucks not being part of the event. Some of the guys dread it because your time isn't truly your own and it seems like everywhere you go, someone wants an autograph. But Brandon always liked it. He enjoyed hanging out with his teammates and making fun of how hungover some of them were when they showed up at the morning panels. They had some good times.

They wave goodbye and watch the car pull away before heading back inside. After Saad and Leddy are gone, the house is too quiet -- which is a feat, considering Andrew can make enough noise for the both of them.

"Just you and me now," Andrew says, flopping onto the couch. He pats the space next to him, so Brandon sits down before Charlie can jump up and take his spot.

"It's weird without them here."

"I guess so. But hey" -- Andrew gives him a look that's his best attempt at a smolder, which he ruins by cracking himself up" -- we have alone time, if you know what I mean."

Brandon keeps his voice flat. "I have no idea what you mean."

"It means, you know, I could do things to you on this couch right now."

Brandon drums his fingers against his thighs, and Andrew looks down, watching Brandon's fingers. "You're gonna have to fill me in on what kind of things."

And then Andrew shows him exactly what he means, and Brandon has to say he's _definitely_ down with having alone time.

*

For dinner that night, Brandon grills some burgers and they eat outside as the sun goes down, until they decide to head inside to hang out on the couch with the dogs and watch a movie. It's easy and comfortable and kind of perfect in a way that makes Brandon ache with the realization that it isn't going to last.

Everything that happens here has an expiration date attached to it. In a couple of days, he's going home. And even if he'd stay here a while longer, then there's training camp, and then hockey season, and trying to make this last beyond the summer doesn't seem like the best idea with everything else going on.

Andrew nudges Brandon with his elbow halfway through whatever they're watching.

"What?" Brandon says, trying to pretend like he's not half-asleep.

He did zone out there for a while, staring blankly at the screen, but he didn't think it was that obvious he'd checked out of the movie a while ago.

"Just making sure you're still awake over there."

"I am."

"We can turn this off if you want."

"Nah." Hershey moves closer to him, resting her head on his thigh, and Brandon scratches under the dog's chin. "This is nice."

Andrew reaches over to pat the top of Hershey's head. "You're definitely her new favorite person."

"She has good taste."

Andrew snorts at that. "Sure she does."

Brandon has an enormous soft spot for dogs. He always had a dog growing up, and he wishes he could have a dog now. It wasn't feasible the last few years when he was living in a hotel for a while, then renting an apartment in a building that had a strict policy on pets. Getting to hang out with Andrew's dogs has him thinking that he might need to get one of his own.

"I should get a dog," Brandon says. "It might help with the transition to Calgary, having a buddy."

"You can't take my dog. Even though I'm pretty sure she'd go with you."

"Well, there goes my plan to steal her."

"Getting a dog might help, but you know, I don't think Calgary is gonna suck as much as you think it will."

"It's not that I think it's going to suck. It's just not Chicago."

"It's not Chicago, but you might like it. You're gonna get into country music. You're gonna start wearing plaid shirts, and maybe even a cowboy hat, which will be really hot."

"I wouldn't count on that last one. I don't think a cowboy hat is in the cards for me."

"That's what you say now."

"If I ever end up wearing a cowboy hat, I'll be sure to send you a picture."

"I'll be able to put it to good use."

"Oh, god. Cowboy hats turn you on? That's a thing for you?"

"No, just the idea of you in one."

Brandon shakes his head. "I'll try to remember that if I'm ever in a store that sells them."

"Or boots."

He laughs. "Okay."

Andrew grabs the remote and turns off the movie. "It's not like we were watching this, anyway."

It's quiet for a few minutes, the two of them watching Hershey sleep on top of Brandon's leg, neither one of them wanting to make her move, even though Brandon's leg is starting to go numb. As the silence sinks in, Brandon realizes that as much as he hates avoiding difficult conversations, that's what he's been doing. Avoiding talking about this isn't going to make it any easier when they eventually have to say goodbye.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Brandon asks as Andrew settles against the couch cushions.

"Yeah," Andrew says, patting the top of Hershey's head.

"Maybe we should talk about this. What we're doing."

"We're hooking up, and it's awesome."

"Is that what you want it to be? I'm not trying to push anything; I just want to make sure we're on the same page."

Maybe Brandon's imagining it, but he senses some hesitation before Andrew responds. "If that's the page you're on, I'm on it, too."

Brandon has no fucking clue what page he's on, or which one he's supposed to be on. He's been trying to figure that out for a long time, and he isn't any closer to an answer.

Talking about it was supposed to make him feel better, but Brandon's stomach twists with the realization that he was hoping for a different response. And it's stupid -- they've had sex a few times, they've both admitted to liking each other for a long time, and it's been a day since this thing started, whatever it is. It's probably too soon to put a label on anything, but Brandon can't help wanting one, anyway.

Keeping this as a vacation hookup might be for the best, though. They're about to be thousands of miles apart, and then there's Brandon's short and flawed history of being someone's boyfriend. But for the first time in his life, he might want more than just sex. With Andrew, he wants it all.

*

On Brandon's last full day at the cottage, Andrew wakes him up way too early, before the sun even comes up. He's on vacation. He's not supposed to be waking up when it's still dark outside. Brandon is pretty sure rule number one of vacation is that you get to sleep as late as you want.

"Why?" Brandon asks, his arm over his eyes.

"Because we're going to watch the sunrise," Andrew says with the kind of enthusiasm most people reserve for things like Christmas morning or new puppies or winning a Stanley Cup.

He shuffles them into the shower, and Brandon gets dressed still half-asleep and hoping that he grabbed clean clothes to wear instead of dirty ones. They're out on the boat by six, and by the time the sun starts coming up, Brandon is glad Andrew dragged his ass out of bed. He's not going to say it out loud because then Andrew will probably try to pull this shit tomorrow, too, and Brandon's plans for his last morning here involve keeping Andrew in bed and undressed for as long as possible.

The sunrise is spectacular, all orange and gold and pink, and Brandon turns to Andrew and takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. Brandon's never been into holding hands, but something about this moment calls for it. He doesn't even realize he's doing it when he slides his fingers through Andrew's. Andrew smiles, quiet and content, and squeezes back before they both let go. It's the kind of thing that makes Brandon think that having someone -- having Andrew -- to hold hands with all the time wouldn't be so bad. That he could make it work, that if anyone would make him want to settle in for the long haul and give being someone's boyfriend a shot, it's the dude next to him right now. The thought is fleeting, though, replaced by doubt as soon as it's over.

"That was smooth," Andrew says. "Damn."

"You're the one who took me out here on your boat to watch the sunrise, and you're gonna chirp me for holding your hand?"

"That wasn't a chirp; that was me appreciating how fucking smooth that hand-holding move was. Anyway, shut up, this is supposed to be a nice moment."

Brandon does shut up, because Andrew's right -- it _is_ a nice moment. He reaches up to rest his hand on the side of Andrew's face and gives him a gentle kiss.

"Thank you," Brandon says when he pulls away, his hand still cupping the side of Andrew's face.

"For what?"

"For this. The past few days."

When Andrew nods and murmurs, "Yeah," Brandon just kisses him again.

*

Since they're up so early, Andrew suggests going to the diner, where unfortunately Rose ("your girlfriend," Andrew calls her) isn't working this morning. Their waitress looks like she's in high school, and she definitely recognizes them but doesn't say anything. Brandon doesn't get recognized that often, not even in Chicago, but apparently Andrew is the closest thing this town has to a celebrity. Which isn't saying much, but still. It's kind of hilarious.

"I'm surprised they haven't asked you for a signed picture to hang up on the wall," Brandon says, cutting into his veggie omelet. "You're their most famous customer."

Andrew sets his fork down and fixes Brandon with a glare. "Don't give them any ideas. I'd be so fucking embarrassed if I had to come back here and see my picture on the wall."

"But what if they offered you perks, like free bacon for life?"

That gets Andrew looking like he's considering it. "Well, if free bacon is involved. But _only_ if free bacon is involved."

"You would shamelessly use your celebrity for unlimited breakfast meat is what you're saying."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Maybe. It depends. Like how much free bacon is allowed per serving? Is the only requirement an autographed picture, or do I have to do something else? Am I allowed to switch to sausage at some point if I get tired of bacon?"

"You've given way too much thought to this." Andrew takes a bite of his eggs.

"They're important things to consider."

"Speaking of important things to consider," Andrew says, sitting up straighter, and Brandon has to admire the conversational segue. "I wanted to ask you something."

Brandon drinks some coffee and then sets down his cup. "Yeah?"

"I know you're supposed to leave tomorrow. But I want you to stay. And I'm not asking for the rest of the summer or anything, but I also don't want you to stay for just a few more days."

"Andy --"

"Hold on, hear me out. I know your house is in Chicago, and you probably want to hang out there and you have shit to do and whatever. But it's been great with you here, and I want you to stick around."

"Are you asking me to stay so I keep cooking for you?" Brandon jokes, but Andrew sets his mouth in a stern line.

"I mean it. I want you to stay because I want to keep hanging out with you. Not for any other reason."

Brandon should say yes. He wants to say yes. What they're doing is fun; it's great. He gets to hang out with one of his best friends and sleep with him, too, and Brandon is content to keep doing that. What makes him have to stop and think is that he knows this is way more than friends hooking up, no matter what they said last night. It's what he's thought about for years as an abstract possibility, but now that it's actually happened, the timing is all off.

When Brandon doesn't say anything, Andrew speaks. "I don't want you to go home and then I don't see you again until October."

"No." Brandon shakes his head. "I’ll think about it, but you know -- there are still a few months before training camp. We wouldn't go that long without seeing each other. And you might have time during the convention, too."

That seems to appease Andrew for the moment, but Brandon has some thinking to do. Part of him wants to stay, but the other part is freaked the hell out and wants to do the easy thing, which is go back to Chicago and pretend like he never wanted more than a good time. He really should have thought about this before he fucked Andrew, but it's also not like he'd take back anything they've done together over the past few days.

If he stays, he'll keep falling for Andrew. He's already halfway there. Trying to tell Andrew shouldn't be that hard. That moment of hesitation last night before Andrew agreed they were just hooking up keeps replaying in his mind, like Andrew was saying what he thought Brandon wanted to hear.

He wanted to hear _stay_ and _let's see where this goes_ , and now that he's heard one of those things -- now that Andrew's asked him to stay -- well, that has to mean something.

*

After breakfast, they walk around town for a bit, even though there's not much to see, and stop at the grocery store to grab some stuff for dinner. Brandon already has the menu planned out in his head, wanting to make something special for his last night at the cottage. It's nothing fancy -- just some roasted chicken and vegetables -- but it's a step up from the other meals they've had recently.

They go swimming in the afternoon (with swim trunks this time; Brandon isn't looking for a daytime repeat of the other night) and sleep for a couple of hours before Brandon starts working on dinner. There's at least twenty minutes of prep time, and then the chicken has to cook for an hour and a half. By the time it's done, they should be hungry.

He doesn't even have to ask Andrew for help in the kitchen, even though right now Andrew is perched on the counter opposite him and dangling his legs, watching Brandon prepare the chicken. Andrew makes a face when Brandon starts stuffing the chicken with lemons, thyme, and garlic.

"What?" Brandon asks, glancing over at him with an amused look.

"I can't deal with people putting their hands inside dead birds."

"Oh my god." Brandon is otherwise occupied, so he tilts his head in the direction of the carrots and fennel set out on the counter close to Andrew along with a roasting pan. "You take care of those. Just toss them with some olive oil and salt and pepper, and put them on the pan."

"Do I have to do anything with them?" Andrew hops off the counter, picking up a carrot and looking at it like he's never seen one in his life.

"Cut them into chunks. I know you like to cut things."

"It helps me get out my aggression," Andrew says in a cheerful voice, reaching for the knife and cutting board Brandon set out. He basically did half the work for him already by putting everything on the counter.

Brandon laughs, and since the chicken is done, he goes to wash his hands, kissing Andrew on the temple as he dries them off. Being here, making dinner together, feels right. And scary because it feels so right, and he's not used to that.

He's going to end up running. He knows it.

*

The weather is perfect once the sun goes down after dinner, and they sit on the grass by the lake with a couple of beers. Brandon is barefoot, the blades of grass tickling the spaces between his toes. Andrew sighs and lies on the grass, and Brandon looks at him before deciding, hey, what the hell, and he lies down, too.

"This is pretty fucking romantic right now," Brandon says, glancing at him. "I'm impressed."

"I didn't plan on lying next to you under the stars, but you're right, it is pretty fucking romantic."

"All we're missing is some music to set the mood."

"I'm okay with no music," Andrew says. "It's kind of nice." He reaches over to play with the hem of Brandon's shirt and slides a palm underneath to rest against his stomach.

"Are you trying to get me to take this off? You haven't even tried kissing me yet."

"I was waiting for the right moment."

Brandon turns his head. "Oh, yeah?"

"What about now?" Andrew moves closer, until they're practically nose-to-nose.

"I don't know if I'm feeling it yet."

"That's too bad." Andrew trails his fingertips along Brandon's jawline, and Brandon can't help drawing in a breath.

"Actually, maybe now is good."

Andrew leans in, keeping his hand on the side of Brandon's face, and kisses him. "Are you feeling it now?" he murmurs.

"I think so." Brandon kisses back, pulling Andrew on top of him, and Andrew goes easily, a knee on either side of Brandon's hips. He takes the opportunity to slide his hands under Andrew's shirt and up his back, pushing it up until Andrew gets the hint and takes it off.

They make out for a while, lazy and unhurried, the way Brandon likes it. Between kisses, Andrew tells him, "You're wearing too many clothes" and helps him get out of his shirt, yanking it over Brandon's head. The air is cool against his skin, but it's quickly replaced by Andrew's warmth.

"Wanna go inside?" Andrew asks, his hands moving over Brandon's chest. They've been making out for a while, and Brandon is pretty sure Andrew's knees have to be hurting. He would deny it until the end of time, but it doesn't look that comfortable.

"Depends on what's inside."

"I think you'll want to find out."

"I'm not that into surprises."

Andrew grins. "Oh, you'll be into this one, trust me."

And Brandon is, once Andrew takes him to his room and is hovering over him, stretching himself on Brandon's fingers. By the time he lowers himself onto Brandon's dick, Brandon is desperate for him but more than willing to let Andrew set the pace. Andrew is quiet now like he was the first time, even though he was swearing up a storm when Brandon's fingers were getting him ready for this.

"Hey," Brandon says, reaching for the lube, slicking up his hand and wrapping it around Andrew's cock. Andrew hisses at the touch. "This good?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's good."

Brandon isn't in any hurry for this to end, at least not yet. He works his hand along the length of Andrew's cock, his rhythm sure and steady, his other hand settled on Andrew's hip. Andrew isn't in any hurry either, judging by the way he's riding Brandon, languid and completely unconcerned with how tightly wound Brandon is starting to get, the tension building and building inside him and not feeling any closer to release.

"You're killing me here," Brandon says, shifting his hips up, getting deeper, enough to make Andrew gasp in surprise.

"I know." Andrew laughs, and Brandon can feel it reverberate through Andrew's body into his own.

"Oh, it's funny?"

"A little bit, yeah." Andrew rocks down, and that's good, good enough to send a jolt through Brandon, breaking through the low-level hum of pleasure that wasn't quite enough.

"I need to --" Brandon lifts Andrew and flips him onto his back, sliding into him again. It happens fast enough that Andrew stares up at him wide-eyed, his jaw going slack when Brandon starts fucking him harder.

"That was fucking _hot_ ," Andrew says, pulling him down for a kiss, crying out when Brandon nails his prostate again.

Brandon catalogs that away, making a mental note of what exactly makes Andrew get loud in bed. This position seems to work better for that, as much as Brandon enjoyed the sight of Andrew riding him, of being able to watch his cock disappear inside him. He could do that now, watch himself move in and out, but looking at Andrew's face is better. He has an intense stare going, which is totally different from the smug little smirk he'd had when he was controlling the pace of this thing. There's more of a connection between them this way, and it's really doing it for him.

Brandon's got one hand on Andrew's dick and the other tucked under Andrew's knee as he fucks into him, slowing down his thrusts. He hits Andrew's prostate just right, and at the same time does something with his hand that has Andrew coming in about five seconds flat, his hips bucking as he shakes and moans. Brandon keeps fucking him through it until his own orgasm catches him off-guard and he shudders, riding it out as Andrew kisses him again.

They don't move for a while afterward. Brandon waits for Andrew's heartbeat to slow down and for their breathing to get back to normal before he pulls out and gets rid of the condom. When he lies next to Andrew again, the mattress creaks as he gets comfortable in the space, wrapping an arm around him.

"You were right; I liked that surprise," Brandon says. Andrew burrows into his side (he's the biggest cuddler Brandon has ever met) and pulls the sheet up and around them.

"Knew you would," Andrew says on a yawn, settling against him.

"Exactly what I wanted for my last night here."

"Your last night?" Andrew sounds skeptical, like he doesn't quite buy that Brandon is going to head home tomorrow. "I don't think so. You need to stay so we can keep doing that."

Brandon is tired, he just came, and he's not thinking when he says in a quiet voice, "I should go home."

"Oh." Andrew stares up at the ceiling. "I -- that's -- yeah, I didn't expect you to change all your plans to stay here or whatever. It was just an idea."

"I'll be around while you're in Chicago in a few weeks, if you wanna hang out."

Andrew makes a "hm" sound, and whether it's meant to signify agreement or displeasure, Brandon can't tell. Brandon is a giant bag of dicks. Seriously, he wants this to be a thing, and he's self-sabotaging any chance of that happening.

For what it's worth, Andrew doesn't move away from him, but he also doesn't say anything else. Brandon tightens his hold on him, trailing fingers up and down his back. Andrew's eyes are closed, and once his breathing starts to even out, Brandon falls asleep, too. In the moment before he drifts off to sleep, he does his best not to think about how much he might have fucked this up.

*

His last day at the cottage doesn't have to be his last day, even though he said he was leaving. It's not like he has a flight to catch, or anything pressing to do back home. Yeah, he should start looking for a place in Calgary, getting his shit together to move, and training for the new season, so maybe on paper leaving seems like the best thing to do. But it sure as hell doesn't feel like it.

Brandon puts the last of his stuff back in his duffel and hoists it onto his shoulder to take it out to the car. Andrew follows him, standing at a distance from the car, like he's afraid to get any closer.

"Thanks for having me," Brandon says, putting the bag in the trunk and closing it. He's not sure what else he can say -- somehow, "thanks for having me" doesn't seem to cut it.

"Yeah." Andrew shoves his hands into the pockets on his shorts. "So." He laughs, but it sounds nervous. "What now?"

"We'll see each other in three weeks," Brandon says, his voice steady.

Andrew nods. "And then what?"

Brandon leans against the trunk of his car. The pose is casual, but there's tension in every one of his muscles. "I don't know. I don't know what happens with anything after that."

Andrew makes a frustrated noise and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm pissed at you," he says. His arms are crossed now, his eyes narrowed, and he's scowling in Brandon's direction but not looking at him. He kicks at a pebble on the ground.

It's like Andrew to be that direct, and while Brandon is being kind of a jerk right now, he still wasn't expecting Andrew to be quite that straightforward.

"I guess you should be."

"I'm not pissed because you're not staying here after I asked you; I'm pissed at you because I like you and you're being an idiot."

His chest aches, and yeah, Andrew has a point. So much for being on the same page. Apparently neither one of them was saying what he actually felt during that conversation.

"I probably am, but I thought you said the other night --"

"That we were hooking up and it was awesome? Yeah, it was, but I think it's a lot more than that."

"It is, but I don't know what the fuck to do about it."

Andrew makes a frustrated noise. "You should go. I'll think about texting you when I'm back in town."

He turns around and goes inside the house. Brandon stands there for another minute or two, expecting Andrew to come back outside, for them to talk this out -- or try to.

When Brandon finally gets in the car, he sits there with his head resting against the steering wheel for a moment before putting the key in the ignition and turning the car on. He really fucked this one up, didn't he? He smacks his palm against the steering wheel before putting the car in reverse.

He gets on the highway and drives for an hour, until he can't take it anymore and pulls off at the next exit, parking in front of a rest stop and getting his phone out of his pocket. It's not like talking to anyone can fix things, but he scrolls through his contacts until he gets to the one person who will actually tell him he's being a jerk.

_Hey, I think I messed up things with Shawzy and I need you to tell me I'm being an asshole._

_You're being an asshole_ , Leddy sends back. A moment later, he adds, _He already texted me._

_Should I go back?_

When Leddy doesn't respond, Brandon backs out of the parking space and turns out of the lot, heading back toward the cottage.

*

He spends the ride in nervous silence, trying not to speed and mostly failing as his heart hammers in his chest and he replays the past few days in his mind. He's either doing the right thing by going back or the completely wrong thing, but the only way to find out is by going back there and trying to talk to Andrew. That is, if Andrew will actually talk to him. He might just glare and tell him to go away.

Brandon rings the bell at the front door, but there's no answer. The dogs don't even bark, which is weird. He walks around to the back, but Andrew isn't on the deck, either. And then he looks down toward the water, and sees Andrew sitting at the end of the dock, dogs by his side.

Well, it would be stupid now not to do anything, so he steels himself and walks down the dock, his footsteps making the wood creak. Andrew doesn't turn around, even when Charlie and Hershey's tails start wagging. He has a hoodie on -- a hoodie Brandon recognizes as his own, the one he accidentally left outside the night they went swimming and that he forgot to pack -- with the hood pulled up, and his feet are in the water.

The dogs come up to him, wanting attention, and Brandon pets them before they scamper back up the lawn toward the house, barking happily. At least they missed him.

"Hey. Talk to me," Brandon says, taking off his shoes and sitting next to Andrew, sticking his feet in the water.

"You're back," Andrew says, voice completely flat.

"Are you gonna tell me to leave?"

He inhales, holding his breath before letting it out. "No."

"Listen, I'm sorry. Can we talk?" Brandon tries, as gentle as possible.

"Yeah, I guess."

Okay, so that's how this is going to go: short responses; no emotion to his voice; and refusing to meet Brandon's eyes. Great.

That doesn't mean that he's not going to try, though. He's going to say what he should have said two days ago.

"The other night, I should have told you that I wasn't on the same page. That I wanted this not to be just a vacation thing, or an offseason thing, or hooking up every once in a while." His voice gets softer when that doesn't get any reaction, and he bumps their shoulders together. "I'm crazy about you, Andy, come on."

Andrew looks at him finally, turning his body so he's angled toward Brandon. He looks less pissed off than he did earlier, so that's progress.

"I can't just be friends after this," Andrew says. 

"So what do you want us to be?"

There's a long pause that slowly starts killing Brandon inside. 

"I want us to be together." Andrew is still looking at him and speaking in a careful tone. "And I don't mean casual; I don't do that. I _can't_ do that, not with you."

"I can't do the casual thing, either."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. I'm a terrible boyfriend, though. It didn't go great the last couple of times."

"You might not be terrible with me."

"But what if I am?"

"Then I'll tell you that you're being an asshole. And you don't have to be my boyfriend -- I mean, not right away. We've only been doing this" -- he waves a hand between them -- "for a few days. But eventually, yeah, I want that."

"Moving away complicates things a little bit," Brandon says with a wry smile.

"Yeah, it does," Andrew says. "But that doesn't rule anything out, you know."

"So ... we can see how this goes," Brandon says, choosing his words carefully.

"I'm willing to give it a shot if you are."

Brandon reaches for Andrew's hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. God, it feels good to touch him again. "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
